


His Name Was Isaac

by HysteriaLevi



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25176964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HysteriaLevi/pseuds/HysteriaLevi
Summary: AMERICA, 1907During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.
Comments: 99
Kudos: 147





	1. The Hunter

AMERICA, 1907

WEST ELIZABETH

Bang.

The man collapsed to the ground.

His body twitched, his face contorted, his chest spurted blood, and within a few heartbeats... he was already gone from this world.

He was dead.

Just like that.

And soon, his friend would follow with him.

Smoking pistol in hand, his assailant cocked their firearm one last time and brought their attention to the final survivor in the room, preparing to take them out.

They crawled helplessly away from their pursuer and attempted to grab the weapon of one of their fallen comrades, only to cry out in agony when the other man pressed a boot on top of their fingers, practically grinding them to dust.

“You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch...!” The victim growled through gritted teeth, his eyes wet with tears from the pain. “I knew I shoulda killed you when Whitley first brought you here...!”

His attacker disregarded the comment and simply continued to twist their heel into his hand, causing a disgusting crack to emit from their joints.

“...You expect me to be grateful?” The other man replied, his tone low and venomous. “You signed your death warrant the minute you killed my mother all them years ago. You pieces of shit ain’t even getting a fraction of what you deserve.”

The injured man remained on the floor, his jaw tightly clenched due to the ongoing pain throbbing throughout his hand.

“We let you live...” he whispered, desperately attempting to bargain with him. “We gave you a place to stay. We kept you fed. Goddammit, Isaac -- we raised you!”

Isaac glowered at the absurd statement and knelt to the ground, making sure he was face-to-face with the other man.

“No,” he corrected. “You used me. You took everything I had and then forced me to give you more. And now...”

He applied even more pressure onto the man’s hand, causing him to start weeping.

“...you’re gonna die for it.”

Knowing there was no way he was going to talk himself out of this one, the man resorted to cowardly insults and intimidation, trying his best to scare Isaac out of going after the rest of the gang, but to no avail.

“If you’re thinkin’ about tracking Whitley down too, you can forget it. He’s already long gone. He ain’t nothin’ but a ghost nowadays.”

“You think?” Isaac said. “Well, I’m not too worried about it. I managed to track you down, didn’t I?”

His victim shook his head in anger. “It’s been ten years since Whitley left our gang, Isaac. Ten. How the hell are you gonna recognize him? You’ll never find him!”

Isaac let out a chuckle and rose from the ground, finally taking his foot off the man’s hand.

“Have no fear.” He reassured, taking aim. “I already have.”

Bang.

~~~~~~~~~~

THREE DAYS LATER

RHODES, EVENING

“Blackjack!” The dealer announced after checking his cards, earning a series of groans from the two players sat around him, along with the spectating crowd. He happily removed their chips from the betting position and retrieved their cards, stacking them proudly amongst his own.

“Alright, everyone, place your bets.” He instructed once everything had been reset.

Not too confident about his luck, the first player decided to adopt a safer strategy and presented a smaller amount of chips than the last round while the second player, Eli Whitley, decided to go higher.

He scooted the chips into the small circle drawn onto the table’s surface, biting his lip in uncertainty.

“Okay, no more bets,” the dealer said, shuffling the cards. “Let’s begin.”

Placing a total of two cards in front of each player, Whitley ended up with a six and a jack while the other received a king and a queen, leaving them in a much more favorable light than Whitley himself.

The dealer addressed Whitley first, throwing a quick glance at his cards.

“We have a sixteen.” He observed.

“Hit me.” Eli said, taking a third card. This one was an eight.

“Bust.”

Whitley sighed in disappointment upon seeing the result, leaning back as the dealer took away his chips before moving on to the next player.

“Twenty.” He noted.

The player held a hand up. “I’ll stand.”

Keeping his cards in hand, the dealer returned to his own pile and began flipping them over one by one, only to end up with a nineteen.

The second player grinned proudly at that. “Well, alright then!”

“...Dammit.” Whitley muttered to himself. Tonight was not his night.

Repeating the cycle as always, the dealer cleaned up the table once again and put everyone’s cards back into the stack while also giving out the appropriate number of chips, only to perk his head up in interest when a third man joined the game.

“Welcome, sir.” The dealer greeted.

“Evening, gentlemen.” He replied casually, settling down two seats over from where Whitley was.

The new player caught Whitley’s attention.

He appeared to be much younger than everyone else at the table, and had a head of wavy, blond hair as well as a thick layer of scruff outlining his jaw. He carried the look of someone who was no stranger to traveling around the country and also kept a beautiful revolver on his waist, allowing it to hang just beside the rim of his rugged duster coat.

Though, what really intrigued Whitley was the man’s eyes. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something strangely familiar about them. Like... he had seen this man before. No names were coming to Whitley’s mind at the moment, and he was fairly certain he had never ran into this young man in the past, but everything about him just screamed, “you know me.”

Well, Whitley supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask and turned to face the new player, curious to learn who he truly was.

“Hey there, partner.” He said, leaning forward. “Have we met before? You seem... familiar.”

The player simply carried on with the game, clearly not sharing Whitley’s sense of recognition.

“I don’t think so, mister. I’m usually pretty good at remember peoples’ faces, but...yours don’t ring any bells.”

Still, Eli was determined. “What about my name? You know anyone called Eli Whitley?”

The young man’s expression paused for a moment upon hearing his name -- as if he suddenly remembered who Whitley was -- but then returned to its natural state as he placed a small stack of chips in the betting ring.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry, mister.”

Whitley furrowed his brow in disappointment and confusion.

“Hmm... strange. Perhaps I’m mistakin’ you for someone else.”

The young man smiled in a friendly manner. “No worries. I guess I just have one of those faces.”

Letting their conversation drop there, Whitley fell back into silence as the dealer continued on with the game and began making his way around the table, starting with the new player.

“I see a twelve.” He examined.

“Hit me.”

The dealer placed another card down. “Eighteen.”

The young man held a hand up, signaling a stand. He moved on to Whitley.

“Fourteen.” He announced. Eli decided to take a risk and placed another stack of chips in the ring.

“I’ll double down.”

The dealer gave him an extra card, presenting a jack. “Bust.”

“Damn...!” Whitley cursed under his breath, shaking his head as his chips were whisked away. He could hear a few scattered moans of discouragement coming from the crowd.

“Welp...” He said with a lighthearted shrug, “I never did have much luck with gambling.”

The young man laughed softly at that and slid his cards back to the dealer.

“No, you didn’t.”

Whitley froze at the comment.

Wait, what?

What the hell was going on with this guy? Didn’t he just say that he had no idea who Whitley was? And now he was talking as if he knew him? Perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding in their little exchange that Whitley failed to catch.

Eli jolted his head in the young man’s direction, admittedly somewhat perplexed by what was happening.

“Hang on a minute, I thought you didn’t--”

Just before he could finish speaking however, a fourth player decided to jump into the game and occupied the seat between Whitley and the blond haired man, blocking his line of sight. Eli tilted his body so that he could see around the newcomer and leaned back a tad, only to find himself staring at nothing more than an empty chair.

“What in the world...?” He murmured.

Whitley was beside himself with bewilderment.

Where did the man go? Who was he? How did he disappear so fast? Was he even real? Or did Eli just have one too many drinks tonight?

Well, whatever was going on, Whitley started to suspect that Blackjack wasn’t the only game being played. Clearly, the young man knew significantly more than he let on, and Eli was beginning to suspect that his true intentions were far from innocent.

Deciding to call it a day, Whitley returned his cards to the dealer and stood up from the table, fully determined to find that young man now. He had about a thousand questions swimming through his head at the moment, and by God was he going to get some answers.

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE RHODES, MIDNIGHT

Squeak.

Squeak.

Squeak.

That was all Whitley could hear as his lantern swayed back and forth with his horse’s movement, causing his shadow to warp into all sorts of ominous shapes on the dirt road beneath him.

At the moment, Eli was trying to locate the young man in the fields just outside of Rhodes, but the nightfall in this area was brutal. Even with a flame to help guide the way, the darkness still managed to swallow the light of his lantern whole, and it also nearly enveloped his vision completely.

There was nothing around him except for endless fields of grass shrouded by utter blackness, and in the distance, Whitley could’ve sworn he saw an abandoned barn standing behind a misty layer of fog.

“...Jesus Christ...” He muttered, admittedly feeling on edge.

What was he doing out here? Was it even worth it to find this boy? For all Whitley knew, that young man could’ve been absolutely no one special, and he could’ve just been wasting his time out here like a complete moron, searching an answer that didn’t exist.

But no... it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. It was clear that the man knew who Eli was. He knew his face. He knew his name. And somehow, he knew Eli would be in Rhodes tonight.

Whitley just had no idea how.

Pushing further into the night, Eli decided to make a beeline straight for the barn and lightly whipped the reins on his horse, urging it to go into a steady trot.

Despite all the fog surrounding the eerie structure, Whitley managed to spot the soft orange glow of another lantern sitting outside the barn’s doors, indicating that someone else might’ve been there, too.

Even if it wasn’t the young man, Whitley still felt a wave of relief rush over him nonetheless. There was no denying that these empty fields made him uneasy, and with the odd encounter he had at the Blackjack table earlier, he wanted nothing more than to return to his room until the world realigned itself.

Cautiously approaching the barn, Eli squinted through the darkness and held his lantern up a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead.

Not too far away from him, it looked like there was another horse hitched by the barn’s entrance, and -- if Eli’s eyes weren’t deceiving him -- a person sitting on top of it as well. Their back was turned to Whitley at the moment, but there was no one else accompanying the stranger as far as he could tell, so he assumed it would be safe to introduce himself. Perhaps they were another lost soul, hopelessly trying to find their way around these winding meadows.

“Um, excuse me, sir?” Whitley called out, getting off his mount. “Or ma’am...?”

He walked over to the other horse, curious to see who this stranger was.

“I apologize for intruding, but I was wonderin’ if you could help me find my way back to town. It’s a hell of a lot darker out here than I first anticipated, and I seemed to have gotten myself turned around. Would you be so kind as to--”

Finally standing next to his new friend, it didn’t take long for Whitley to notice that the stranger was no person at all, and in fact, a simple scarecrow that had been placed on top of the saddle.

“What in the hell...?” Eli whispered in a baffled voice, observing the decoy.

That was when someone suddenly shot him from behind, planting a bullet in his leg.

“Shit!” He hissed, falling to the ground as smoke rose from his shattered kneecap and the horses whinnied in fear.

Tightly clutching his leg, Whitley heard the distant sound of someone cocking their gun, followed by a chain of footsteps emerging from the shadows that eventually led to his side.

“No wonder you have such bad luck with gambling,” a familiar voice remarked. “You’re far too predictable, Whitley.”

Holding onto his wounded knee as he writhed on the ground like a worm on a hook, Eli gazed upwards at his assailant and saw the same man from before, only with a completely different temperament this time.

As opposed to the casual, laid-back demeanor he carried during the game of Blackjack, he now lacked any empathy in his expression, and didn’t seem to hold even a shred of remorse in his conscience. His blue eyes were narrow with a sense of hatred, and the angled light coming from Eli’s fallen lantern cast a number of shadows across the man’s face that only seemed to sharpen his glare.

Whitley let out a series of rapid, shaky breaths, attempting to speak through the pain.

“W-Who the hell... are you?” He groaned out. “Why are you doin’ this...?!”

The young man kept his pistol aimed at Eli and slapped his horse with the other, scaring it off as a way to ensure Whitley had no means to escape.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” He answered vaguely. “I know it’s been over ten years, but seein’ as how you was drowning your sorrows in the parlor house back there, I figured you hadn’t forgotten.”

Eli sighed in frustration, his voice becoming more ragged due to anger. “Enough games, sir! Just gimme your name so I can know what the hell is goin’ on! Haven’t you played with me enough?”

“Not really,” the young man disagreed, “but I ain’t got any more time to waste on you. So consider yourself lucky. For once.”

Circling around Whitley like a vulture observing its meal, the young man finally decided to come clean and crouched next to Eli’s face, making sure his revolver was ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Fifteen years ago or so... you and your ‘associates’ may have robbed a small cabin...? Killed the owner in the process, too. A young woman, barely into her twenties. Her name was Eliza, and she had a son as well.”

He paused, holding up a finger. “Oh, but you didn’t kill her son. Instead, you took him in. Forced him to work for your gang, and then dug another grave by his mother’s to ensure his daddy wouldn’t come after him.”

The man aggressively pressed the barrel of his pistol against Whitley’s temple, nearly digging it through his skull as he growled his next words.

“Any of this ringin’ a bell now?”

Suddenly realizing just who this man was, Whitley’s eyes sprung wide open in remembrance as he gaped at his captor with a horrified look, finally understanding what all of this was about.

“...I-Isaac Morgan?” He breathed out in disbelief. “Is that you? My God... y-you was just a little boy the last time I saw you.”

Isaac nodded as confirmation, appearing satisfied with the answer. “If I recall correctly, you left your gang members behind ‘cause you couldn’t... ‘deal with the guilt anymore.”

Whitley closed his eyes in shame, unwilling to relive the tragic memory.

“...It was one of our first jobs, Isaac. We never meant to kill Eliza. We only wanted her money. But people just panicked, things got escalated, and -- for God’s sake -- it was an accident! Okay? The trigger went off and we couldn’t just undo it!”

Isaac shrugged at Eli’s confession, evidently not taking a word of it in. “I don’t care. Your ‘accident’ cost me my family, my home, and my childhood. And there ain’t no way in hell you can give any of that back, so I’ll just settle for takin’ your life. But before I do...”

He took a handful of Whitley’s collar, yanking the man’s face closer to his own. “...Tell me where Mackintosh is.”

Eli furrowed his brows at that. “Shay Mackintosh? How on earth would I know?”

“You and Mackintosh were practically brothers before you left the gang. You must know something!”

Whitley raised his hands in a diplomatic manner. “Look, I haven’t spoken to Mackintosh in years! I have no idea where he could be!”

Isaac pulled the hammer on his pistol down, afterwards pointing it at Eli’s other knee. “Well, you better give me something.”

“Wait!” The other man exclaimed, starting to panic. “Just wait! I’ve... I’ve heard rumors of him runnin’ around with the Van der Linde gang recently. Apparently, he’s one of them now.”

Morgan wasn’t quite finished with interrogating him yet. “The Van der Linde gang? Who are they? Where can I find them?”

“I don’t know,” Whitley answered truthfully. “I’ve never met them before. All I know is if you wanna find them, you gotta find Dutch van der Linde first. He’s their leader. He’s the one in charge.”

“...Dutch van der Linde...” Isaac repeated to himself, taking a mental note of the name. “Alright, then. I’ll go find him. And Mackintosh, too. Seems you ain’t completely useless, after all.”

“But what about Baumann and Blackmore?” Eli questioned, confused as to why Isaac stopped his interrogation there. “Aren’t you gonna look for them as well?”

Isaac stood up from the dirt path and patted any dust off his coat, averting his aim back to Whitley’s head.

“No need. They’re already dead.”


	2. A Face From The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you guys for all the support you gave on the first chapter. I’m definitely excited to write more for you and I hope you’ll stick around for future parts :)

TWO MONTHS LATER

AURORA BASIN, WEST ELIZABETH

Blackwater.

It was so close.

Dutch could see it.

Somewhere beyond those trees, all the way over the eastern horizon and past the Great Plains, lay the city that started all this. The city that caused the Van der Linde gang to transform from a simple band of outcasts... into a group of killers willing to do anything for a wad of cash.

But was anyone surprised? Probably not.

After Hosea finally succumbed to his illness five years ago, any glimmer of humanity that remained among them instantly vanished. Dutch took full control over the gang and immediately started heading back out west, eager to return to New Austin. Meanwhile, his mental health deteriorated rapidly into a state of paranoia, greed, and an incessant need for power... and the fact that Marston eventually left did little to help matters either. 

At the moment, the only original gang members to remain at Dutch’s side were Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, and of course... Arthur Morgan.

Nobody ever questioned Bill or Micah’s sense of loyalty -- they rarely expressed any emotions suggesting otherwise, after all -- but to everyone’s surprise, Arthur decided to stay.

Some of the rumors said he stayed simply because he had no other family to return to. Others implied that he was waiting for Dutch to follow in Hosea’s footsteps before swooping in to become the new leader. But in reality... the reason Arthur had yet to abandon Dutch was mostly due to sentiment.

Despite everything Dutch had done over these past eight years, Arthur could still see a part of the old him lingering inside. Behind all the ravings and robbing and killing, Arthur could sense that there was something more human at Dutch’s core -- something more fatherly -- and he knew it would disappear completely if he left. So, against better judgement, Arthur stayed.

It probably seemed foolish to other people, to stick around like this. But those rare moments when the old Dutch would break through and remind Arthur of the good ol’ days definitely made it worth it. He had nothing else to care about nowadays, and it wasn’t like Arthur could just leave the gang behind. He was old now -- or at least older than before -- and even if he did abandon Dutch, he doubted he’d have enough time to start a new life for himself.

Right now, the only thing Arthur could do was accept that he was destined to be an outlaw for life... and he had.

Putting his tangled thoughts aside for a moment, Arthur returned to the task at hand and roamed down the short corridor, making his way through the derelict cabin as he went to meet Dutch in the living room.

This cabin was nice, Arthur thought, for a place that had been abandoned for so long. He and Micah found it sitting in the middle of nowhere while hunting for food at Aurora’s Basin, and decided it would be the best place to set up their new camp. At least until they finally made their move on Blackwater.

Though, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried for Dutch’s wellbeing. Ever since the gang first settled here, the man practically locked himself in the cabin and rarely ever came out. 

And whenever he did come out, he always looked so pale. Tired. Sickly, even. Not even close to the man Arthur knew eight years ago. He could’ve sworn that Dutch’s hair was getting grayer every time he saw him, and the way his eyes often stared blankly into the distance did nothing to help ease Arthur’s nerves.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring Dutch back from the edge. He might’ve been a total madman these days, but... even then, he was still like a father to Arthur. And as his son, the last thing he wanted was to see him lose himself completely.

He just feared it might have been too late already.

Finally arriving at the living room, Arthur sauntered through the narrow wooden archway and walked up to Dutch, only to be greeted by a depressing scene.

It was completely dark in here.

All the candles had been snuffed out, the fireplace lay cold with ashes, and the lamp on the ceiling did nothing but swing despondently in the chilling breeze.

At the moment, the only source of light in the room was the one in front of Dutch himself. It was a tall, somewhat cracked window that sat right underneath a broken pendulum clock, and it had a torn bundle of curtains dancing gently around it.

There was an array of pale, white sunbeams pouring through its dusty glass currently, and with the way they embraced Dutch’s figure, he looked like nothing more than a silhouette relaxing in an old rocking chair. 

Arthur took a few steps towards the man, hoping to check up on him.

“...Dutch?” He called out quietly. “You, um... wanted to see me?”

The older man slowly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, silently beckoning his friend to come closer once he saw who it was.

When Arthur was at his side, Dutch presented a used handkerchief to him and held it up in the light, making sure the other man could see the blood splatters staining its white fabric.

Arthur eyed the handkerchief with a sorrowful gaze, letting out a morose sigh.

“You ain’t doin’ too good, huh.”

Dutch coughed a few times, his voice raspy from the irritation. “What gave it away?”

Pressing his hands against the armrests, Dutch steadily pushed himself up from the chair and rose to his feet, still facing the window as he continued to talk.

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” He said, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. It won’t be long now before you and Micah are the ones in charge of this gang, and I’m buried in the ground.”

Arthur was admittedly grief-stricken by the news, but did his best to hide it and simply carried on with the conversation.

“...You really think Micah would share that kinda power with me? You know how that man is.”

Dutch put his hands on his hips. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Well, with all respect, Dutch, I ain’t too comfortable with lettin’ the future of this gang depend on a ‘maybe.”

“Neither am I,” the older man agreed, “but I don’t know what else to do, Arthur. Even after all these years, you and Micah continue to butt heads like a pair of deer who’ve got their antlers tangled. If I’m gonna leave this world in peace, I need to know that you and Micah can work together. Otherwise...”

Dutch’s voice trailed off, leaving Arthur with a sense of dread in his gut.

“Well...” he picked up, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Arthur shrugged in uncertainty, leaning against the wall. “So... what d’you wanna do?”

The other man returned to his rocking chair, allowing himself to sink into the flat cushion.

“Nothing. Not yet, at least. For now, we just do things the way we’ve always done them. We head for Blackwater, and we focus on the bank. My death is a bridge we’ll cross once we get to it. In the meantime, though...” Dutch gave Arthur a pleading look, “just try to cooperate with Micah, would you? For my sake. The future of this gang may depend on it.”

The younger outlaw crossed his arms, reluctant to agree but still complying nonetheless.

“...Of course, Dutch.” Arthur replied. “For your sake. I doubt it’ll be easy, though.”

That seemed to please the older man. “Thank you, son. Thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dutch let his head fall back and stretched his legs out, gazing aimlessly through the open window once again.

“Oh... I wish Hosea were here. We had our disagreements from time to time, but no one knew how to keep people together quite like that old boy. It ain’t been the same since he died.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “No, it hasn’t. I just wish John was here, too.”

Dutch glowered at the mention of Marston’s name. “Pfft. That man was a traitor. We’re better off without him.”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded, “but he was still family.”

“Family don’t turn their back on you, Arthur.” Dutch countered. “If we’re going to survive this year, we’ve got to stick together. You, me, Micah, Bill, Mackintosh -- everyone. We can’t let what happened at Beaver Hollow happen again. You understand?”

The younger man hesitated to answer, unable to deny his skepticism about Dutch’s leadership.

“...I understand.” He replied regardless. The other man managed to display a small smile.

“I knew you would, Arthur.” Dutch said, shutting his eyes in order to get some rest as the day gradually came to an end. “You was always there through thick and thin. Even after John abandoned us and Hosea passed, you stuck around. You’ve been loyal from the start, and that means the world to me. Never forget that.”

Arthur pushed himself off the wall and began heading for the cabin’s front door, letting Dutch get some sleep. 

“I won’t, Dutch. I won’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

SAINT DENIS

GASKILL RESIDENCE

AFTERNOON

“...Gaskill...” Isaac murmured to himself, reading the small note in his hand.

He glanced up at the house in front of him, making sure this was the right place.

“Yep,” he confirmed, talking to his horse. “I think we’re here, Aldo.”

Leaving Aldo at the hitching post, Isaac said goodbye to the majestic creature and stuffed the note back into his pocket, strolling up to the front porch.

The property wasn’t as big as some of the others Isaac had seen along the way, but he still thought it looked rather cozy. It had a total of two stories and was decorated with loads of flowers, trees, grass, and a small water fountain that stood elegantly on the front lawn. There were a few birds perched on the edge of it at the moment, and they chirped happily as the cool water trickled onto their feathers, causing them to flutter their wings joyfully.

As for the house itself, if Isaac’s information was correct, then it belonged to an author by the name of Leslie Dupont. Though, according to the research he’d done, that was just a pen name. 

Her actual name was Mary-Beth Gaskill, and word on the street was that she used to be part of the Van der Linde gang... the very same gang Isaac had been tracking down for these past two months.

He had to admit, this “Dutch van der Linde” figure was proving rather difficult to find. For a while now, he had been jumping from person to person -- town to town -- just trying to get even the smallest lead.

At first, Isaac paid a visit to a general store owner named Simon Pearson who apparently used to be the gang’s cook. He talked with him for a while and shared a few drinks, only to realize that the man had a talent for speaking a lot without actually saying anything substantial. 

Afterwards, he tracked down another ex-member by the name of Tilly Pierre. She appeared friendly enough and was somewhat more willing to communicate, but Isaac hardly got a word out of her before her husband shooed him away. Didn’t want suspicious folks hanging around their family, he said.

And as if that wasn’t tiresome enough already, Isaac found himself talking to a preacher called Orville Swanson who seemed to have nothing but bad memories of Dutch, and kept going on about how much Isaac reminded him of one of the gang members.

At this point, Isaac was just hoping that this Gaskill woman actually existed. It seemed like every lead he followed up would end up with more questions than answers, and all the people he talked to so far had been less than eager to speak about their experiences with him.

If Miss Gaskill didn’t have anything valuable to give him, he had no idea where he would turn next.

Stepping up to the front door, Isaac gave it a few firm knocks and waited patiently in the garden, eager to speak with this woman. After a moment or two, the door swung open from the inside, revealing Ms. Gaskill herself. 

She was a lot more presentable than Isaac expected. In contrast to the rugged, hardened, mean-spirited woman he had been anticipating, Ms. Gaskill actually seemed quite sweet. She had a romantic twinkle in her eye and carried a very inquisitive nature, giving her the look of someone who enjoyed reading books and drinking tea as opposed to the ex-outlaw Isaac heard she was.

“Arthur--!” Ms. Gaskill greeted excitedly, only to cut herself off once she got a better look at her visitor’s face. “Oh, um...” a flustered chuckle escaped her, “s-sorry, mister. I... mistook you for someone else.”

Isaac smiled. “No worries. That seems to happen a lot nowadays.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Can I... can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, actually. Um...” the young man double-checked his note, “...are you Mary-Beth Gaskill?”

She nodded, immediately picking up on the fact that he used her real name. “I am. Who might you be?”

“My name’s Isaac. I apologize for interruptin’ your day like this, but... I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a few questions.”

“What about?”

Isaac hesitated for a second, unsure about how to broach the subject. “...It’s...it’s about the Van der Linde gang. I’ve heard that you used to run with them back in the day, and I was hopin’ you might be able to provide some answers. I’m lookin’ for them, you see.”

To Isaac’s surprise, the response actually seemed to earn him a more colloquial temperament from Ms. Gaskill, as opposed to the suspicious nature his previous visits induced. 

“Ah... I think I understand. Of course, of course. Come on in. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll just be a minute.”

Pushing the door completely open, Ms. Gaskill allowed Isaac to walk in as she made her way to the sitting area, preparing something for them to drink.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She offered.

Isaac shut the front door behind him, removing his hat. “That’d be lovely.”

Mary-Beth beamed at him, gesturing to the multiple chairs that had been arranged around the room. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Taking in his surroundings, Isaac sat down next to a rather nice end table and placed his hat on his lap, gazing at the decorations scattered throughout the house. 

Isaac already pegged Mary-Beth for a bookworm, but he had no idea just how into it she truly was. There were numerous bookshelves filled to the brim with horror stories, mysteries, comedies, tragedies... but most of all, romances.

They seemed to occupy the shelves more than any other genre, and just by looking at the small ribbons sticking out from between their pages, it was evident that Mary-Beth was busy working her way through quite a few of them at the same time. He wondered what that said about her as a person.

“Here you go,” Ms. Gaskill said as she handed him a cup of coffee, breaking Isaac out of his thoughts. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Isaac gently brought the cup into his grasp, holding it securely as the smell of freshly-brewed coffee beans reached his nose. “Thank you.”

Giving him a smile in response, Mary-Beth retrieved her own cup of coffee before taking a seat across from the young man, admittedly intrigued by his motive for being here.

“So...” she started, “you’re lookin’ for the Van der Linde gang. May I ask why?”

Isaac took a sip. “Well, truth be told, I ain’t really concerned about the whole gang. I’m just lookin’ for a specific person who I’ve been told is with them.”

Ms. Gaskill formed her own conclusion. “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“In a way, I guess. Only difference is I’m not doing this for the money. My reasons are more personal.”

The young woman nodded in understanding. “I see. And how did you know I used to be with them?”

“Your friend Mr. Swanson directed me to you.”

A nostalgic look spread across Mary-Beth’s face at the sound of Swanson’s name. 

“Oh, Mr. Swanson...” she reminisced warmly, “it’s been many years since I last saw him, but he was always so kind. Lost, perhaps, but kind. How is he nowadays?”

“He’s doin’ well, I think,” Isaac answered honestly. “He’s a minister now, up in New York. I don’t know what he was like when you knew him, but... Swanson seemed to be content with his life, if a bit remorseful.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ms. Gaskill said, her expression dimming slightly afterwards. “Too many of my friends from the old days ended up dead, missing, or just straight-up insane... so I’m glad that at least someone besides Tilly turned out okay.”

She downed some of her coffee, changing the subject. “But enough about that. You said you had questions about the Van der Linde gang?”

“I do.”

“Well...” Mary-Beth set her coffee down, “what would you like to know?”

Isaac decided to start at the top, inquiring about the leader himself.

“...What kind of a man is Dutch van der Linde?” He asked. “What can I expect from him?”

Ms. Gaskill chuckled at the question. “I used to ask myself the same thing everyday.”

Isaac smirked. “He’s unpredictable, I take it?”

“Understatement of the century. Though, to be fair, Dutch wasn’t always like that. When I first joined their gang, he actually saved me. A couple of men had just caught me stealin’ from them and were chasing me over the hills until Dutch scared them off. He was so generous back then. So passionate.”

“Yeah?” Isaac noted. “How so?”

Mary-Beth leaned forward, gesturing with her hands. “Well, even though Dutch was technically an outlaw, he never really came across as one. He was more like a teacher, or a guardian. A father even, to some. He loved us all, and we loved him, but...”

A melancholic sigh escaped the young woman. “...things just... spiraled out of control. As the years passed by, civilization began to spread, the law started killin’ our people, and eventually, Dutch just... snapped. In the end, he was more akin to a tyrant than anything, and the gang fell apart within a few short months. That was when I decided to run away with my friends, but... not everyone made it.”

Mary-Beth’s expression sank with sorrow, causing Isaac to blurt out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gaskill. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She reassured. “I just wish things could’ve turned out differently, y’know? Not everyone in the gang was rotten. Some of them were actually quite wonderful... but it’s rarely the good ones who survive. I’m just surprised to hear that the Van der Linde gang is still going. I thought the rest of them would’ve scattered to the winds by now.”

Isaac drank some more of his coffee. “D’you have any idea where I could find them?”

Ms. Gaskill thought for a moment. “Well, if there’s anythin’ I know about Dutch, it’s that he probably headed back to the west.”

The young man quirked a brow. “The west? That’s a pretty big region. You have any specific states in mind? Or cities? Anything that could narrow it down?”

“Hmm... Dutch used to talk a lot about New Austin,” she suggested. “Apparently, he’s quite fond of the desert. Said it made him feel closer to the sky. I know he was always eyeballin’ that town Blackwater, too.”

“Blackwater...” Isaac repeated, mentally marking the town as his next point of interest. “I’ve been there a few times. Do you know why he’d be hangin’ around there?”

Mary-Beth shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that eight years ago, a ferry job in Blackwater nearly finished the whole gang. Perhaps Dutch feels like he has unfinished business there. Probably sees the town as a trophy he never got to win.”

“Hmm... that makes sense. And what about his numbers? How many men did Dutch have when you was with him?”

The woman conjured up a quick estimation. “Roughly two dozen, I think. Possibly a few more. But I can’t imagine he has that many people following him around these days, considerin’ how maniacal he was when I last saw him.”

“I see. So, he’s likely got a good chunk of people with him.”

The young man finished his coffee and placed the empty mug on the end table, preparing to leave.

“Well, I think I’ve gotten all the answers I needed, Ms. Gaskill. Thanks for takin’ the time to help me out. I really appreciate it.”

Mary-Beth smiled sincerely. “Anytime. It was good to talk about the old days, no matter how chaotic they might’ve been. I just hope you can find whomever it is you’re lookin’ for. Are they a friend of yours?”

Isaac chuckled. “Hardly. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Ah. So you’re trackin’ down an enemy. Well, be careful out there, then. Things may be more civilized nowadays, but many gangs still roam the country. Not to mention that Dutch himself is exceptionally dangerous. Stay safe during your search.”

The man rose to his feet, heading to the door. “I will. Believe me. Oh, and um... Ms. Gaskill?” Isaac threw a look of gratitude at her, putting his hat back on before stepping out into the sun. “Thanks for the coffee.”


	3. End Of The Road

ONE WEEK LATER

OUTSKIRTS OF BLACKWATER

Steadily moving his line of sight just along the distant horizon, Shay Mackintosh kept a close eye on the bank in Blackwater as a number of customers went in and out, completely oblivious to the gang that lurked no more than a stone’s throw away from them.

At the moment, the town seemed pretty calm. Normal. Ordinary. Not nearly as hostile as the last time Shay set foot there. That must’ve meant that the people had either grown too comfortable with their lives, or that there was someone else guarding the perimeter for them. And considering the rumors of Pinkertons roaming around Tall Trees, Shay assumed it was the latter.

...Dammit, he mentally cursed to himself. 

The last thing the Van der Lindes needed to worry about right now were Pinkertons. Dutch was already close to losing his mind as it was, and with the Skinner Brothers’ growing presence in West Elizabeth, Shay doubted the man would be calming down anytime soon.

If federal agents started going after them... well, he didn’t even wanna think about the chaos they’d cause.

Though... this could’ve been a blessing in disguise, depending on how one looked at it. As money-hungry as their gang was, Shay could see that everyone was anxious to get out of West Elizabeth and move on somewhere safer. Somewhere that didn’t have lawmen or rival gangs prowling around every corner.

A few of the other members had already expressed their concerns surrounding the upcoming robbery in Blackwater, and with the presence of Pinkertons now being an issue, Shay expected there would be even more infighting back at their hideout.

If too many threats presented themselves at the same time... perhaps Dutch would finally see sense and agree to relocate their camp. 

But... then again, that could’ve just been wishful thinking on Shay’s part. Dutch was known for his stubbornness, after all, and Mackintosh couldn’t remember the last time their leader ever swayed his mind about something without raising hell about it first.

If he truly had his mind set on robbing this godforsaken bank, then... Shay supposed that was what they’d do. Dutch was the boss in the end of the day, and his word was practically law.

It didn’t mean Shay wasn’t worried, though. 

“Mackintosh...!” A man’s voice suddenly called out from behind, cutting off Shay’s train of thought. 

The outlaw whipped around in alarm and instantly reached for his pistol, only to come to a halt once he saw who it was.

“Jesus, Arthur...!” he whispered in a startled tone. “I nearly blew your goddamn head off. Thought you was one of them Skinner boys.”

The older man chuckled, crouching down so that he was at the same level as Shay.

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult. What’re you doin’ out here?”

Mackintosh returned to his binoculars, focusing the lenses. “Dutch asked me to scout the place out before we move in. He wanted to know what we’re dealin’ with.”

Arthur leaned closer to Shay and squinted his eyes, trying to follow the man’s gaze. “...And? You see anything worth noting? How many guards are at that bank?”

“Well... I’ve counted about a dozen so far, though there could be more I’m not seeing. They switch every once in a while, but it ain’t often. Not many openings for us to charge in.” 

Shay lowered his binoculars for a second, turning to face Arthur. “...I won’t lie to you, Morgan. It’s gonna be difficult to rob this bank. The whole thing’s under heavy guard, and there are Pinkertons wanderin’ in the streets now. It’d be a huge risk to grab this score, even with all our men.”

The other man held his hand out. “Here. Lemme take a look.”

Passing the device over to Arthur, Shay patiently stood by as the man thoroughly scanned the area, picking up every detail he possibly could.

“Yeah...” Arthur muttered worriedly, “...security’s gotten real tight in Blackwater, that’s for sure.”

“And you still think it’s a good idea to hit this town?” Shay questioned.

“It don’t matter what I think,” Morgan replied. “It ain’t up to me.”

“No, but I imagine you still have a mind of your own, don’t you? As well as your own concerns.”

The older man gave him a cautionary side glance. “It sounds like you’ve got some, Mackintosh. Care to share?”

Shay sighed in a defeated manner. “Look, I know Dutch thinks this’ll be a easy score since Blackwater’s such a small town, but small doesn’t always mean easy. It just means more concentrated. I mean, look at this place.”

He gestured to the settlement in front of them. “Blackwater’s essentially one, giant square. All the buildings are more-or-less in the same area, and it ain’t nearly as convoluted as the other cities we’ve hit. There are fewer blind spots to worry about. Fewer entrances to keep an eye on. Fewer places for us to hide if things go south. And there’s also the fact that Pinkertons have been seen in Tall Trees. If this plan goes awry--”

“--It won’t.” Arthur interrupted.

“...If it does,” Shay reiterated, “we’ll be dead men. The law will have no problems cagin’ us in, and we’ll be hanged on the spot.”

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, the man had a point. Blackwater wasn’t exactly the ideal place for an outlaw to be right now, and with all the threats surrounding them in this area, he couldn’t deny that he thought they might’ve been better off staying the hell away from this town.

But even then, his thoughts were irrelevant. No matter what his opinions were, it was Dutch who always had the final say, and Arthur knew damn well that a few lawmen strolling about wouldn’t be enough to scare the old man off.

If they were going to convince Dutch to leave Blackwater alone, they’d need one hell of a good reason. And at the moment, Arthur couldn’t think of one.

“Look,” Arthur said, keeping his voice down, “I hear you, Shay. But like I said before, it ain’t my choice whether we stick around or not. That’s Dutch’s decision.”

Shay persisted. “Well, yeah, but you’re the only one he actually listens to. That’s why I’m tellin’ you this, Morgan. If you speak with Dutch, he might see where we’re coming from.”

Arthur put the binoculars down. “And if he doesn’t, we risk being accused of being traitors.”

Mackintosh quirked a brow. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“That’s how Dutch’s mind works now,” Morgan explained. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but he’s a paranoid mess these days. He values loyalty above everything else in this world, and in his head, loyalty means you don’t question anything he does. If I bring up our concerns about this robbery and Dutch doesn’t see reason, he’ll lose all his faith in us. I’ve seen previous gang members get shot over less.”

Shay’s expression froze with shock. “Jesus. I knew Dutch was unstable, but that’s downright lunacy.”

Arthur sighed in frustration. “He ain’t a lunatic. He’s just...” he trailed off, unable to find the right words. “...look, forget it. Let’s just get back to camp. I’m sure Dutch is waiting to hear what we’ve found.”

Shay took his binoculars back, sliding them into his satchel. “And then you’ll have a word with him?”

The other man rose to his feet, nodding in response. “I’ll... I’ll see what I can do. I ain’t gonna promise anything, but I’ll try to make him see reason.”

Mackintosh followed Arthur’s actions and returned to his horse, preparing to head back to camp. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s all I ask. Lots of folk are nervous about this robbery, and I wouldn’t wanna see half our gang get wiped out all because of one mistake.”

Arthur thought back to the ferry job they did eight years ago, not even bothering to point out the extreme irony in Shay’s statement.

“...No,” he settled for, sounding much more regretful than before. “We wouldn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

AURORA BASIN

Opening the door to Dutch’s cabin, Arthur and Shay both sauntered into the cold living room as the smell of lingering smoke smacked them in the face, causing the latter to let out a series of coughs.

At the moment, Dutch was mindlessly chewing on the tip of a freshly-lit pipe and steadily pacing around the room, allowing him to think more intently as he listened to Micah prattle on about some nonsense.

It looked like the other man had just returned from his own journey, judging by the heavy satchel slung over his shoulder. There didn’t seem to be much in it other than a few dead rabbits, and considering the fact that there was still some blood on Micah’s glove, Arthur assumed the man had been out hunting.

About time he did something useful, Arthur thought. The man rarely ever lifted a finger around camp other than to swat flies, and when he wasn’t irritating the hell out of the other gang members, he was back in this cabin, doing whatever he could to lick Dutch’s boots. Though, this time... the tone of Micah’s voice suggested he may have been here for another reason.

“Shay! Arthur!” Dutch barked once his gaze landed on the two new guests in his cabin. “You’re back. What did you learn?”

“The bank’s locked up tight, Dutch,” Mackintosh answered, stepping closer to him. “We counted about a dozen guards standing outside of it, and I also spotted some new security measures while we was there. They’ve got more walls. More gates. More places to trap us if we ain’t careful. This is gonna be a risky job no matter how many people we bring.”

The older man didn’t seem pleased. “Well, that’s good to know, but I thought I told you to be discreet.”

Shay blinked in confusion. “We... were. We didn’t set a single foot in Blackwater and scouted it from the outskirts. Just like you said.”

“Oh, is that so? Then why is it that there’s someone in town looking for us?”

Arthur jumped in, his interest now piqued. “Wait, there is?”

Dutch gestured to Micah. “Yeah, Micah saw him. He was just telling me about it before you boys walked in. Said he spotted them in the saloon.”

The other man nodded casually. “Sure did. It was a young man. About this tall. Blonde. I didn’t catch his name, but he was askin’ all sorts of folk if they knew who the Van der Lindes were. Also if they knew Dutch. He seemed pretty determined to find us. Luckily, he didn’t notice me.”

Arthur rubbed his chin, suddenly feeling a lot less confident about bringing up his concerns to Dutch. “...Shit. Was he a lawman?”

Micah shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. He didn’t look like one. Didn’t have no shiny badge neither. My guess is he’s a bounty hunter.”

Shay furrowed his brows. “A single bounty hunter tracking us down all by himself? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Arthur took on a more cautionary tone. “Who says he’s by himself? You’d have to be a fool to fight a gang on your own. It’s most-likely he’s got more friends that we haven’t seen yet.”

Micah shrugged. “That, or he doesn’t realize how close he is to us. Probably thinks he’s still got a ways to go before worryin’ about any sort of fighting. After all, no one expects to find what’s right under their nose.”

Mackintosh changed the subject. “Either way, if this man’s asking questions all around town, he’s gonna draw attention to us. We need to deal with him before anyone else takes an interest.”

“He’s right,” Arthur agreed, turning to Dutch. “You want us to deal with him, Dutch? We can go back to Blackwater. Take him out right now.”

“No.” The man responded, causing all three of them to fall silent.

“...No?” Micah asked, significantly more concerned now. “But if we don’t kill him now, he’s bound to find our camp later.”

Dutch grinned deviously at that. “Exactly. It’s too risky for us to attack him when he’s in the heart of civilization. There are too many obstacles. Too many guards. Too many people. So, instead... I say we let him find us. We’ll play along, let him think that we don’t know what he’s doing, and when he finally comes waltzing into the lion’s den -- that’s when we’ll strike.”

“But what if he’s not alone?” Arthur pointed out. “We’ll have an entire group of bounty hunters right on our doorstep.”

“Then we fight.” Dutch said plainly. “We have enough men to deal with a few guns. We’ll be alright. For now, though, just stay focused on the bank. I don’t want any of you worrying about no bounty hunters unless we have to. Understand?”

The three of them exchanged looks for a moment, ultimately deciding that it wasn’t worth an argument.

“Of course, Dutch,” Micah finally complied. “You’re the boss.”

The older man appeared satisfied with that answer. “Good. Now get back to work. All of you. This bank ain’t gonna open itself.”

Ending the conversation there, Dutch put his smoking pipe away and gave a simple wave of the hand, signaling for everyone to return to their lives while he wandered back to his rocking chair.

Shay and Micah were already halfway out the front door by the time Dutch took a seat, but as always, Arthur remained the odd one out and stayed in place, pondering what he should do next.

Unbeknownst to him however, he wasn’t the only one thinking.

“...I know that look, Arthur.” Dutch remarked, his back turned to him. “I’ve known it for the past eight years. There’s somethin’ you wanna say, isn’t there?”

The younger outlaw hesitated for a second, unsure of whether he should tell the truth.

“...Yeah...” he grumbled out, “but you ain’t gonna like it.”

Dutch chuckled. “Try me.”

Walking up to Dutch, Arthur took a while to gather his thoughts before joining the other man’s side, stopping to lean against a nearby table. He still wasn’t entirely certain if he wanted to express his true thoughts to his friend, but deep down, Arthur knew that what Mackintosh said at Blackwater had merit in it.

“...I think we should leave Blackwater alone.” Arthur admitted at last, earning a puzzled look from Dutch.

The older outlaw paused for a moment, wrapping his head around what the other just said.

“Leave Blackwater... alone?” He repeated, clearly not on board with the idea.

“It’s too risky, Dutch. We don’t even know if the bank is worth it. We’ve got no idea how much cash is really bein’ held in that vault, and on top of that, there’s a shit ton of guards patrolling the area. You heard Shay back there. They’ll shoot us down before we even reach the building.”

“Which probably means there’s a lot of money just sittin’ in there waiting to be stolen! Why else would the security be so tight?”

Arthur knew he was going to say that. “And what about these Pinkertons? We’ve all heard the rumors. They’ve been seen in Tall Trees, Dutch. That’s right outside our camp! All they have to do is take one wrong step, and they’ll be on top of us before we know it. We have to leave now. We don’t want a repeat of what happened in Blackwater eight years ago. You remember the chaos that led to?”

Dutch sighed. “Of course I do. But we won’t make that mistake again. This time, we’ll be better prepared.”

The younger man held his hands out in a perplexed manner. “How? We have even fewer men than we did for the ferry job, and the bounty on our heads is bigger than ever. How are our chances gonna be any higher for this score?”

“Because we have you now.” Dutch said. “You wasn’t with us for the ferry job, and neither was Hosea. And look how that turned out.” 

He stood up from his chair and placed a reassuring hand on Arthur’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “But we have your help this time. Hosea may not be with us anymore, but I know for a fact you wouldn’t let me down, son. I have no doubts that this job’ll go just fine.”

Arthur saw right through the flattery and put his hands on his hips, completely at a loss for words.

There was nothing he could say or do that would convince Dutch to leave Blackwater, was there? The man was entirely obsessed with the city by now, and Arthur knew that at the heart of it, none of this really had anything to do with the money in the first place. It was purely about Dutch’s pride.

He knew that Dutch still hadn’t gotten over what happened to them all those years ago, and he knew that the old man wouldn’t take his eyes off this town until he managed to pull off a successful score. 

He was falling victim to his own insanity, and Arthur had no other choice but to try and pull him away from the edge. It was one hell of a risky move to make, but he decided it’d be worth it.

Arthur let out a remorseful breath and lowered his head, almost whispering his next words.

“...You’re losin’ yourself, Dutch.” He said vehemently. “I can see it everyday. More and more of the old you is just... vanishing.”

The older outlaw appeared taken aback by the abrupt notion and narrowed his eyes, almost looking offended.

“Losing myself?” He replied, his voice dangerously calm. “...How so?”

Arthur gestured vaguely at the room around them. “Look at what we’re doing, Dutch. How many men have we lost just tryin’ to reach Blackwater? Not to mention actually stealing from it. Our gang is dyin’ out here. This area’s too dangerous for the likes of us, and yet... we won’t leave. You won’t leave. The Dutch I know would’ve packed his bags long ago.”

The other man fell silent at that and tightened his lips, making an expression that said Arthur had just crossed the line.

“You think I’m losin’ myself.” Dutch parroted once again, his tone completely flat. “You think... I’m... losing. Myself.”

He took a few steps away from Arthur and began pacing around the room, chuckling to himself in a heartbroken manner.

“...Hosea is dead, Arthur,” Dutch stated, sounding more feral with every passing second. “John is a traitor. My health is deteriorating, we have the law on our tail, and now, the only son I have left thinks I’ve gone crazy--”

The tyrannical man brought his gaze back to Arthur, his eyes wide open with madness.

“Of course, I’m losing myself, Arthur! Wouldn’t you? This world... has gone to shit! Civilization has no room for folk like us, and even within our own world of murderers, thieves, and rapists -- we are still tearing ourselves apart! I have sacrificed everything to keep this gang afloat, even when we went through hell! You are my family, Arthur. You, Hosea, John, Miss Grimshaw... you were all my family. But just like the rest of them, you’re startin’ to lose faith in me too!”

Dutch pulled his revolver out, blatantly aiming the weapon at Arthur.

“Are you gonna leave me, Arthur? You gonna turn your back on me and leave me to the goddamn wolves, just like the rest of them? Are you a snake?”

Arthur held his hands up, absolutely bewildered by Dutch’s deranged response.

“What? No! I’m right here, Dutch. I ain’t gonna leave you.”

“That’s what they all said,” the older man dismissed, evidently unconvinced. “That’s what they all tried to tell me. But when it really mattered, they all--”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Dutch’s words were cut off when he was suddenly struck by a coughing fit, causing him to drop his gun as his entire body heaved uncontrollably.

“Dutch!” Arthur exclaimed out of concern, rushing over to him.

The man continued to cough aggressively and hurriedly searched for his chair, desperately wanting to sit down as he leaned on Arthur for support.

“Easy, Dutch...” he comforted, helping the man into his seat. “Just... take it easy.”

Setting Dutch down, Arthur kept a firm grip on him until he was sure he wouldn’t keel over and stood patiently at his side, waiting until the man’s coughing fit calmed down.

“You okay there, old man?” He asked. Dutch coughed a few more times, eventually hacking up some blood before spitting it on the floor.

Arthur eyed the blood with a worried glance, trying to hide how frightened he truly was about the man’s health.

“Jesus...” he murmured. “Dutch, I’m sorry--”

“--Don’t.” The other man interrupted, wiping his mouth clean. “I don’t want no pity.”

Finally back to his normal state, Dutch let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, clearly worn out from the havoc his own body just put him through. His skin was much paler now, and just by listening to the shaky rhythm of his breath, Arthur could tell he was getting weaker and weaker by the minute. 

It wouldn’t be that long now before he was at Hosea’s side again. The only doctor who could’ve possibly given Dutch some sort of treatment was all the way in Blackwater, and even if they somehow managed to sneak him past all the law, Arthur doubted there was anything they could do to save him.

Dutch’s life was quite literally slipping out of his grasp these days, and much like everything else they had lost in the past few years, there was no way they could get it back. 

Even with Arthur at his side.

“...R’you gonna be okay, Dutch?” Morgan asked solemnly, despite the obvious answer.

The outlaw shook his head, throwing a glare at him. “What d’you think?”

Arthur’s shoulders slouched in despondency. “I know, I know. Stupid question. I just...”

He cleared his throat, deciding to drop the subject. “...Never mind. Forget I said anything. Just... take care of yourself, alright? None of us wanna see you go too soon.”

Dutch nodded in response, admittedly curious about what Arthur was going to say.

“I’ll try, son.” He reassured, his voice much softer now. “You know me. I was born to be an outlaw. All the way to the end. And I intend to go out like one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

BLACKWATER SALOON

Humming quietly to himself, Isaac relaxed on the edge of his bed as he gently cleaned the Springfield rifle in his grasp, preparing for the storm ahead. It had taken him nearly three months to get to where he was now, but after all the traveling and searching and questioning... he was finally close to reaching the Van der Linde gang. And to killing Shay Mackintosh.

It was strange, Isaac found, to think about everything he had been through these past fifteen years. At the start of this hurricane, he was nothing more than a boy merely trying to survive with the men who killed his mother, but now... he was the one delivering them to Hell’s gate.

He knew it probably meant nothing to the people around him -- and some might’ve even considered him crazy for pursuing revenge for so long, but ever since Eliza’s death -- Isaac had had this sense of hatred burning inside him that he just... couldn’t let go.

It was always there. No matter what he did. Even when he smiled, or laughed, or cried... he could feel it growing within him like a parasite.

There were some days when Isaac managed to go from dawn to dusk without a single thought of what happened to him, but late at night, when he’d delve into his dreams, the same nightmare would come back every single time to haunt him, and he’d see her face again. Hear her final words. Her final breath. And the next morning... he’d have a gun in his hand, ready to hunt down the men responsible for her suffering.

It was agonizing sometimes, to deal with such a unique rage. Isaac wanted nothing more than to settle down somewhere and live a normal life, but every time his memories reminded him of the horrific murder, he’d feel the same hatred growing inside him again and set out on his journey for vengeance, craving the blood of those who wronged him.

Perhaps that made him a monster in some people’s eyes. Isaac recalled Minister Swanson mentioning that he saw something darker in the boy’s heart, but to him, this was the only path that made sense.

There was no justice out in the Wild West, after all. You were either the victim, or the victor. If Isaac didn’t go after Mackintosh himself, Lord knew that no one else would. And on top of that, he figured his mother deserved to rest in peace after fifteen years of watching her killers wander freely.

It was what Eliza would’ve wanted, Isaac imagined, and he wasn’t going to forget it.

Sighing in discontent, Isaac set the rifle down and stared aimlessly at the window in front of him, admittedly feeling somewhat torn about these upcoming weeks.

What was he going to do when he found Mackintosh? What was he going to say? Would the man even recognize him after all these years? Would Isaac recognize Shay?

Well, whatever happened, one thing was clear. Mackintosh had to die. However or whenever that came to be, Isaac didn’t care. The only thing that concerned him was landing the killing blow.

Mackintosh was the one who pulled the trigger when Eliza died, so Isaac only deemed it fitting that he’d be the one bring it into a full circle.

He may’ve not had any family left, but by God was he going to avenge them.

Interrupting Isaac’s thoughts, a knock suddenly came from the door and averted the young man’s attention, causing him to stand up from the bed.

“Just a moment!” He called out, quickly slipping into his coat before striding to the entrance.

Swinging the door open, Isaac found himself face-to-face with a rugged-looking man. He had graying blond hair, a horseshoe mustache, cold-blue eyes, and a special kind of demeanor to him that shouted “degenerate.”

The visitor threw a casual wave at him, clearly not realizing what sort of impression he gave off.

“Hey there, cowpoke,” he greeted, his tone oozing with connivance. “...Mind if we talk for a minute?”

Isaac subtly kept a hand on his pistol, trying to conceal his mistrust. “That depends. Who are you? What d’you want?”

The man chuckled. “Suspicious one, ain’t you? Have no fear...” he held his hands up, “I ain’t here for that. In fact, I’m here to help you.”

That didn’t make Isaac feel any better. “That so? Well then, why don’t you answer my first question? Who are you?”

He placed an introductory hand on his chest. “Relax, princess. The name’s Micah. As for what I want, well... I couldn’t help but overhear your conversations with some of the folk downstairs, and it sounds to me like you’re lookin’ for the Van der Linde gang. Am I right?”

Isaac nodded slowly. “...Yeah. Why? You have information on them?”

Micah smirked. “More than you think. And I’m willin’ to share some of it...” He held up a finger. “For a price, of course.”

The young man wasn’t even surprised. “Of course. And how much are you willing to share?”

Micah shrugged. “That depends on how much you’re paying. Information like this don’t come cheap, boy. If you want somethin’ good, you’ll have to pay good money.”

Isaac was still hesitant to accept the deal. “Makes sense, but how do I know your information’s legitimate? Anyone can claim they know about the Van der Linde gang.”

The outlaw grinned and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you a smart cookie. Well... what if I told you I was one of them?”

The boy froze, uncertain of whether he should take the man seriously. “...You’re just pullin’ my leg now. Why the hell would a Van der Linde talk to me if they knew I was lookin’ for them? How does this benefit you?”

Micah sighed in a melodramatic tone. “It pains me to say it, but our current leader, Dutch van der Linde... let’s just say he ain’t doin’ too good.”

“Speak plainly,” Isaac said. “What d’you mean?”

“He’s ill.” Micah explained. “With what, we don’t know. But he’s withering away with each passing day, and it don’t look like there’s much chance of him getting better. Thing is, though...” he leaned on the doorframe, “he has yet to clarify who’s gonna take his place once he’s gone. And at the moment, he’s got two people in mind. One of ‘em being me.”

It didn’t take long for Isaac to catch on. “So, you want me to get rid of your competition?”

Micah shook his head. “Not yet. First, I wanna see what you’re capable of. I’ll give you the information you need, see if you actually manage to find us, and then I’ll know whether you’re just some yellow-bellied pretty boy, or if you really know how to handle that rifle. Then, we can move on to... other business.”

Isaac considered the offer, admittedly still somewhat hesitant to do business with this man.

As strange as it may’ve seemed, Micah actually sounded like he was being genuine. He spoke about the Van der Lindes as if he actually knew them, and his information had been pretty specific so far. 

The only part that confused Isaac was why he would be so willing to endanger his fellow gang members. It was widely-known that outlaws weren’t the type to practice camaraderie -- Isaac had seen that for himself -- but even this was a new low.

Still, it wasn’t his concern what the Van der Lindes were up to. As long as Micah’s information got him closer to Mackintosh, nothing else truly mattered.

“...Alright,” Isaac finally agreed. “I’ll buy your information, Micah.”

The outlaw smiled slyly. “Glad to hear it. How much you paying?”

The young man quickly thought of an offer. “...Fifteen bucks.”

Micah looked impressed. “Good, but not good enough. How’s about we bump it up to twenty?”

“Seventeen.”

“Eighteen.”

Isaac settled with that. “Done.”

Micah shook his hand, a little too happy about where this was going. 

“Pleasure doin’ business with you, mister. I promise... you won’t regret this.”


	4. A Storm Is Coming

LATER THAT DAY

AURORA BASIN

“You ever wonder about eternity?” Mrs. Downes’ voice echoed in Arthur’s head, ringing like a distant bell.

“...You should.”

These days, it felt like that was all he could think about. With Hosea dead, Marston gone, and Dutch’s life hanging by a thread, Arthur often found himself pondering what awaited them in the near-future.

Their gang was pretty much done, despite how much Dutch tried to deny it. He may have acted as if they were still in their prime and running around like in the good ol’ days, but with both the Pinkertons and Skinner Brothers crying out for blood on the horizon, Arthur didn’t see much of a future for them at all. If anything, the only thing he saw coming for the Van der Lindes... was an end.

They were already living on borrowed time as it was. Their gang had experienced so many close calls and damned so many lives, that Arthur figured they were due to pay for their crimes sooner or later. 

He had lived long enough to see that there was no such thing as getting away with a sin, and considering how things had been going for them lately, he assumed that their time would run out before they even realized it.

Civilization was the new foundation for America... and without anywhere else to run to anymore, Arthur only hoped he’d be able to wake Dutch up before it was too late.

Otherwise... he didn’t know what they would do. 

Scribbling down a few more lines into his journal, Arthur threw together a simple portrait of Dutch as he quietly relaxed by the campfire, allowing his mind to drift away with the soft crackling that emitted from the flames.

He had just finished his heated conversation with the old man and left him to rest in the cabin, but even after calming him down, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was still on edge.

The way he acted back there... it was nothing like the Dutch he knew. In Arthur’s head, he still pictured the outlaw as a paternal figure. He saw Dutch as someone who cared for others and dared to question what everyone else accepted as their perpetual reality. 

He was a guardian. A father. A dreamer. A lost soul trying to find his way back home.

But the man in the cabin? ...He was nothing but a stranger to Arthur. His mind and mannerisms both remained a mystery, and the added layer of insanity on top of all that did nothing except further his paranoia. 

His life revolved solely around greed and pride these days, and if Arthur didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Dutch himself didn’t even care anymore. 

They both knew their life as outlaws was done for. That much was obvious. But the difference was -- only one of them was willing to accept it.

“Spoke with Dutch about the robbery today,” Arthur wrote next to his drawing. “...It didn’t go so well. His illness keeps getting worse, and his mind ain’t doing much better neither. He’s deranged. Lost. Nothing but a memory of his true self.”

“It just makes me wonder how life is gonna be after he passes. I didn’t say it to Dutch’s face back at the cabin... but one of my biggest fears in life is the idea of being left alone. Family’s pretty much the only thing I live for nowadays, and without anyone else to stand by my side, part of me wonders if the world is just gonna stop turning when Dutch dies.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll want to stay with the gang at that point. I suppose I could try to make contact with John and the others once again. Try to live a normal life. But knowing Abigail, she’d probably want nothing to do with me. They have Jack to take care of, after all, and it’s no secret that Abigail despises anything to do with criminals. Not that I blame her.”

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see where this goes. I ain’t got that many options left in life, that’s true. But that don’t mean I’m not gonna try to do the right thing. We was born to be outlaws. And it’s clear to me now that that’s how we’ll die too. But I may as well try to make amends while I still have the opportunity.”

“It’s the only thing I can do at this point.”

Setting his pencil down with a conflicted sigh, Arthur stuck it in between the pages and shut his journal closed, shoving the thing back into his satchel. He figured he had wasted enough time skulking around in his head for one day, and decided it would be best if he just focused on preparing for the bank robbery ahead.

There were weapons to load, guns to clean, plans to lay out... and judging by how Dutch was doing just a few minutes ago, Arthur assumed most of the work would fall on him and Micah. That was usually how things went.

Before he could return to the task at hand however, a pair of men approached him.

“Morgan!” Shay called out as Bill Williamson walked alongside him.

Arthur mentally groaned to himself, admittedly not in the mood for socializing. “Shay. Bill.”

Mackintosh had a seat at the campfire, making himself comfortable on a crate. “Heard you had a talk with Dutch. How’d it go?”

Arthur took his hat off, combing a tired hand through his hair. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Bill joined in. “So, we’re robbin’ the bank then?”

He put his hat back on. “Yep. Looks like it.”

Shay was obviously disappointed by the news and shook his head in disapproval, glancing at the cabin. “...He’s gonna get everyone killed, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed in a defeated tone. “Look, I tried to get through to him, but his mind’s been set. It’s clear that he ain’t leavin’ Blackwater anytime soon, and if we try to push any harder, I’m worried he’ll kill someone. Dutch already pulled a gun on me when I talked to him. We’ll just have to do our best during this robbery.”

Shay stared at Arthur for a moment, evidently not reassured. 

“...We have seven people, Arthur. Seven. And two are staying behind to guard the camp. That’s four outlaws and a dying man against what, a dozen lawmen? Pinkertons, too? This robbery is gonna be a suicide mission.”

Arthur rested a hand on his knee. “Well, we don’t have a choice. Alright? I don’t like it either, but no matter how unstable he might be, Dutch is still the boss. If he says we’re gonna rob the bank, then...” his eyes fell to the ground, “...that’s what we’ll do. You don’t wanna do it, you can always sit it out.”

“No, I’ll come.” Shay confirmed. “But you can’t deny that this is a stupid idea. We should be movin’ away from the Pinkertons. Not straight towards them. That was kinda the whole reason we even bothered travelin’ this far west.”

Mackintosh let out a breath and backed down for a moment, dragging a hand down his face. “Ah... I’m sorry, Arthur. I dunno why I’m puttin’ all this on you. I know it ain’t your fault. You tried your best to talk to Dutch, so, really... I should be thanking you. I just wish he would’ve listened.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, standing up from the campfire. “...Yeah. Me too. Sadly, my words seem to always fall on deaf ears these days. Feels like no one’s listenin’ to us. Not even ourselves.”

Strolling away from the fire, Arthur suddenly stopped in his tracks when he noticed that someone was missing from the vicinity. He assumed that everyone was at camp and getting ready for their upcoming job in the next few days, but upon further observation, the gang appeared to be one man short.

Arthur turned back to Shay and Bill, quirking a brow at them.

“Hey, have either of you boys seen Micah?”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

BLACKWATER SALOON

Laying the weathered piece of paper down on the desk, Micah presented his roughly-drawn map of Aurora Basin to Isaac as the young man relaxed in a wooden chair, studying the map with one hand and holding onto his rifle with the other. He and Micah may have been partners for the time being, but that didn’t mean he trusted the outlaw for one second.

“...Aurora Basin.” Isaac read aloud, his eyes skimming over the text. “So this is your camp?”

Micah nodded, crossing his arms. “Sure is, cowpoke. You ever heard of it?”

The young man shook his head. “No.”

“Good. Then that means I chose a good spot. Or not, depending on how you approach it.”

Isaac pulled his chair closer, taking a better look at the map. “Well, what’s the best way in? Is it well-defended?”

Micah rested a hand on the desk. “Overall, I’d say yes. There ain’t nothin’ but mountains on the west side of the camp, and the region of Tall Trees completely envelopes the other. If you wanna attack the gang, you’re gonna have to get real close. Unfortunately for you though, there’s only one way in.”

“I thought so. Is it this path here?” He pointed to the road on the eastern side of the map.

“Yep. That’s where we post our guards. We’ve always got two men standing there just in case anyone... unfriendly shows up.”

Isaac leaned back, contemplating his next move. “So... there’s no way in from the east or the west. What about the north and south? Is it possible I could sneak in from there?”

Micah rejected the idea. “Surrounded by mountains too, I’m afraid.”

The young man furrowed his brow. “Well, shit. Looks like this is gonna more difficult than I thought. What about the guards who are posted at the entrance? When do they switch out? That might be the only opening I can seize.”

“Every couple hours or so. But they don’t switch at the same time, so there’s always gonna be at least one person there who can see you.”

The outlaw offered an alternative. “Though... it might interest you to know that the gang’s headed out for a robbery in two days.”

Isaac perked his head up. “It is? Where?”

Micah chuckled. “That information’s irrelevant to you. The part you should care about is the fact that everyone’ll be gone for a while. The only people who’ll be left are the two guards at the entrance. But I’m sure a tough boy such as yourself can handle them just fine. Can’t you?” 

Isaac rubbed his chin in thought. “I should be able to sneak in, but I need to know more about the camp itself first. Where do you keep your supplies?”

Micah pointed to a group of wagons stationed near the hitching posts. “Here. That’s where we store most of our food, weapons, medicine, ammo... you name it.”

The young man diverted his gaze to another location. “And what about this cabin here?”

The outlaw followed his line of sight. “Oh, that? That’s where our leader lives.”

“You mean Dutch van der Linde?” Isaac clarified. “I’ve heard he’s quite the unpredictable man.”

Micah sighed. “Unpredictable, paranoid, and dying. The deadliest combination. I’d suggest leavin’ him alone for now.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind. But tell me more about this robbery. When are you boys setting out? How long d’you reckon you’ll be gone?”

The outlaw took a moment to think. “Oh, I dunno... about an hour, I’d guess? Not a lotta time for you to find the camp and do what you need to do, but it’s the only chance you’ll get. As for when we’re leaving, we usually start robberies early in the morning. We don’t wanna give the law a chance to wake up properly before the chaos ensues.”

Isaac stood up from the desk. “That works for me.”

Micah eyed the young man with a cautionary glare. “...Just remember who helped you get this done, princess. You may be payin’ me, but I still got guns of my own. I won’t hesitate to use ‘em if you leave me no other choice. Understand?”

Isaac took the map and folded it in his hand, casually assuring the outlaw. “Of course, Micah. I won’t forget.”

“Good. Then I think I’ve given you your eighteen dollars’ worth of information. You wanna know more, you’ll have to pay more. For now, though...” Micah made his way to the exit, resting a hand on the doorknob, “...all I can say is good luck.”

“Wait.” Isaac said, stopping the other man before he could leave.

Micah lazily glanced over his shoulder, clearly eager to get out of here. “What is it?”

Isaac took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing his rifle on his lap. He seemed a little too calm for Micah’s liking, and the next words that came out of his mouth did nothing to ease the man.

“...Don’t eat the food after you return from the robbery.” He warned plainly, obviously thinking of something. 

“Otherwise, it won’t be pretty.”


	5. Whirlwind

TWO DAYS LATER

AURORA BASIN

Making haste across the camp, Arthur strode over to Dutch’s cabin with an uneasy spring in his step as he joined his fellow gang members, his mind racing with incessant thoughts of doubt.

The Van der Lindes had spent the entirety of the previous night preparing for today’s robbery and equipped themselves with every possible weapon, completely armed to the teeth.

They were carrying shotguns, rifles, pistols, knives -- hell, even dynamite. Arthur had no earthly idea how they were supposed to sneak past all the lawmen while looking so conspicuous, but he assumed that Dutch would have some sort of “miracle” plan to work things out.

He always did.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch announced, approaching his men as they waited outside the cabin. “Today’s the day. We’ve been plannin’ this robbery for a long time now, and I am well aware that there has been some skepticism...” he threw a glare at Arthur, “...about how this is going to work. But trust me -- we’ve been doin’ robberies like this for decades now. We was born and bred as outlaws. We live for jobs like this. This ain’t nothin’ new to us.”

Dutch held up a reassuring hand. “We are gonna be just fine. Just follow my lead, lie low, and don’t do anything stupid. Now, as for the plan...”

He gestured to two gang members. “Cleet and Joe are gonna stay behind to guard the camp while we’re away. They’re also gonna help pack things up since I do plan on movin’ once we’re finished in Blackwater.”

Arthur raised a question. “Where we going?”

“I don’t have an exact location yet,” Dutch answered, “but I’m thinkin’ of heading east. I’m not fond of civilization -- you know that -- but it’s clear to me now that this gang ain’t ready to run itself. If there’s anyone out there who can cure my illness, or postpone my death at the very least, it’s a chance I have to take. And I doubt we’re gonna find any fancy doctors over in New Austin.”

Micah joined in. “And what about the robbery?”

“Just keep your wits about you.” Dutch advised. “As you all know, there are many lawmen guarding this bank. According to Mackintosh, we can expect roughly a dozen. I don’t want any of you firin’ your guns unless absolutely necessary. Understand? Let’s try to keep this as quiet as possible, and as quick as possible.”

“Now, as for who’s doin’ what... Arthur, you focus on gettin’ the vault open. I don’t care how you do it. Whether you wanna beat the teller, or figure out the combination yourself, just make sure you don’t draw the law’s attention too quick. Micah and Bill, I’m countin’ on you two to keep any unruly customers at bay. We got enough to worry about as is. I don’t need any surprises. Shay, you be on the lookout for anyone that tries to stop us.”

“What d’you want us to do if somethin’ goes wrong?” Arthur asked. “Where should we meet?”

“If we get separated, head to Quaker’s Cove. It’s a jetty just south of Blackwater. But do not ride straight back to camp. We can’t risk leadin’ the law into the heart of our gang. Now... is everyone clear on the plan?”

The gang exchanged looks with each other, all of them nodding in agreement.

“I think we are, Dutch.” Shay replied.

The older man grinned deviously. “Then let’s goddamn do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

TALL TREES

Galloping through the forest at full speed, Dutch and his small army of men carved their way through the thick woods as they hurried to Blackwater, anxious to get this robbery over with.

Not only were they expecting to see heavy resistance at the bank, they also had to ride straight through Skinner Brother territory in order to reach it in the first place. And they weren’t exactly the type to cower in the shadows.

There were toppled stagecoaches lying on the side of the road, people hanging from trees, rotting horse carcasses leaned up against the rocks, and columns of black smoke just above the horizon that pinpointed their other camps throughout the region.

It was no wonder the Pinkertons took an interest in this place. Anybody who wandered into Tall Trees was essentially signing their own death warrant, and even the local law had been spooked away from this area.

Arthur just hoped they didn’t get roasted alive before they reached Blackwater. Dealing with a few cowboys who had badges slapped onto their coats was one thing, but these Skinner Brothers... they were no joke.

They were crazy, but clever. Wild, but organized. Nowhere to be seen, but everywhere at the same time. They had been targeting travelers and lawmen alike for years now, and Arthur doubted their gang would be any exception. 

Unbeknownst to him however, there was another, much more urgent threat that awaited them in the forest. 

And he was far more familiar with this one than he realized.

Holding his rifle close to his chest, Isaac attentively observed the gang from behind a boulder as they traveled along the narrow paths, completely oblivious to the man watching them from afar.

The young man had been waiting in the same spot for nearly two hours now and already set up a few traps in order to delay the gang’s return, but he didn’t plan on killing Mackintosh just yet.

He was surrounded by too many people. Too many obstacles. The Van der Lindes had a reputation of being some of the deadliest outlaws in the country, and Isaac knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to tackle all of them single-handedly.

If he was going to kill Mackintosh and escape West Elizabeth with his life, he’d have to eliminate the men protecting him first.

That was why he was going to poison their food.

Peering through the scope of his rifle, Isaac scanned the gang as they breezed past the trees, riding like a bunch of bats out of hell. At first glance, none of them seemed to stand out, but upon taking a closer look, Isaac suddenly spotted Mackintosh himself riding alongside another man.

“...There you are, you piece of shit...” He muttered under his breath, tempted to pull the trigger and be done with it.

But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. 

Isaac wanted Shay to know who was coming after him, and he wanted his face to be the last thing that pathetic murderer ever saw... but he was going to do it right.

He didn’t spend fifteen years hunting Mackintosh down just to shoot him like a bird in the breeze. If Isaac was going to kill him, he’d do it in a way that neither of them would ever forget.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the young man lowered his rifle and forced himself to stay back, allowing Mackintosh to ride away with the rest of the gang.

It pained Isaac to just let him slip out of his fingers like this, but if everything went according to plan these next few days, then he’d get his revenge sooner than he even knew it.

He just had to wait a little bit longer.

Standing up from the ground, Isaac tugged on his horse’s reins and led him through the woods, trying to stay as low as possible while he headed for the entrance to Aurora Basin.

“C’mon, Aldo...” he whispered, getting the poison ready. “We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

BANK OF BLACKWATER

Gathering near the edge of town, Dutch and his men all huddled up in a straight line as they observed the bank standing in the distance, their hearts pumping with adrenaline.

It didn’t look like anyone in Blackwater had taken an interest in their activities just yet, but considering the horses’ restless whinnies and the way they struggled in their bridles, a storm was on its way.

They’d have to move quick.

“There it is.” Dutch said, observing the tall building. “The Blackwater bank.” 

He glanced side-to-side, checking on all his men. “...Are you boys ready?”

Micah rolled his shoulders. “Ready, Dutch.”

“Good. Then let’s--”

“--Hold up.” Arthur suddenly interrupted, gaining Dutch’s attention.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What is it?”

The other man narrowed his eyes ominously. “This don’t feel right...”

“What doesn’t?”

Arthur gestured to the bank’s entrance. “Look. There’s hardly anyone here. No guards, no Pinkertons, no local law...”

Dutch was already bored of his skepticism. “So...?”

“So, where the hell is everybody? When Shay and I were last here, we counted at least a dozen people. Ain’t no way they’d just leave the bank unguarded like this.”

Micah mimicked a snore. “Doubt, doubt, and more doubt. Do you ever stop worrying, Morgan?”

Arthur glared at him in annoyance. “I’m just tryin’ to keep what few people we have left alive, Bell. You wasn’t there when we scouted this place out. They had a goddamn army of lawmen protectin’ this bank.”

Shay jumped in. “It’s true. We saw a shit ton of men here, Dutch. It wasn’t pretty. If we stayed any longer, we woulda gotten caught.”

“And now...” Arthur continued, “they’ve all suddenly disappeared. On the same day of our robbery, no less. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Dutch shrugged casually. “Whether it’s coincidence or fate, I won’t complain. You was worried that we wouldn’t be able to find any openings, weren’t you, Arthur? Well, here it is. Now, put on your mask and set aside your worries. We’ve wasted long enough bickering about how we’re gonna rob this bank. I say it’s time we goddamn do it.”

Bill pulled his bandana up. “Right behind you, boss.”

Arthur let out an irritated sigh but followed Dutch’s actions nonetheless, preparing his pistol. “Fine. I’m with you. But I ain’t celebratin’ anytime soon.

Dutch dismounted his horse. “Then keep your gun close, and follow my lead. We have only one chance at this. Let’s not waste it.”

Prowling towards the bank like a pack of wolves, the entire gang steadily approached the front doors while keeping their eyes peeled at the same time, admittedly somewhat unnerved by Arthur’s observations.

Even though the two of them didn’t get along in the slightest, Micah couldn’t deny that he did find it a bit strange that no one was guarding the bank. Nobody outside the gang knew about their plans for the robbery -- except for the young man Micah spoke with -- and he was fairly certain that none of the other members had been in contact with the law.

If everything was at it seemed, then that meant the little rascal had gone behind Micah’s back and given the Pinkertons a tip about their next move. He was probably trying to buy himself some time by trapping them in Blackwater, and using the law as a way to delay their return.

...Goddammit, Micah cursed to himself. He was going strangle that boy if he ever saw him again.

“Alright, cowboys...” Dutch said lowly, flattening himself against the wall. “You all know what to do. Keep your guard up. Grab as much money as you can. We go in, and we go out.”

He pulled his mask over his nose. “Follow my lead!”

Whipping out both of his revolvers, Dutch planted a firm foot in the door and kicked it open, causing it to swing loose as everyone inside jolted their heads in his direction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery!”

Rushing into the bank, Bill and Micah immediately got to work and started waving their guns around, making sure that all the customers were on the floor.

“Stay down!” Bill exclaimed, slamming the butt of his rifle into someone’s head.

Screams of panic could be heard throughout the building as the gang swiftly took control of the bank and cornered people into the walls, keeping them trapped behind the threat of getting shot.

“Don’t do nothin’ stupid!” Micah snarled. “Or you’ll get a bullet in your head! Understand?”

“Mr. M!” Dutch called out amidst the chaos, beckoning Arthur to the vault. “Go on and do your thing! We’ll keep an eye out for any law. Just get those bags full!”

Charging to the back of the bank, Arthur instantly aimed his pistol at the teller’s head and pulled down the hammer, forcing him to follow his every command.

“What’re you, deaf?” He barked, grabbing his collar. “Open the goddamn vault!”

“O-Okay!” The teller cried out. “Okay! J-Just... don’t hurt anyone!”

Reaching for the vault’s knob with a shaky hand, the teller frantically began to put the combination in while cowering under Arthur’s intense stare, his breath trembling uncontrollably with fear.

So far, everything was going according to plan, and neither Shay nor Dutch had raised the alarm yet, but Arthur just couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming.

Why else would the law leave the bank so vulnerable like this? This town was no stranger to criminals. Even in the busier parts of the city where things were more civilized, Arthur would still see at least one or two lawmen strolling about.

The only logical explanation he could think of... was that the Pinkertons were hoping to lure them all into one spot before wiping them out. 

They must’ve known how Dutch’s mind worked by now, and they must’ve been able to predict that he’d hit the bank eventually.

Arthur’s only question... was how they knew it would happen today.

“There!” The teller whimpered, throwing his hands in the air. “I-It’s open!”

“Good, now get outta my way.” Arthur shoved the man off to the side, pushing forward into the vault. 

“It’s open!” He announced to the rest of the gang. “Someone get over here and make sure this fool don’t try nothin’ funny. I’m gonna get the money.”

Stepping over the unconscious body of another customer, Arthur grabbed the bag dangling from his shoulder and began shoveling bundles of cash into it, wanting to get out of this godforsaken city as soon as possible.

He could already hear the whistles of police officers blaring in the distance, and if the amount of footsteps storming their way was anything to go by, Arthur imagined they were about to have one hell of a fight on their hands.

He just prayed they’d live long enough to see the end of it.

“How’s it lookin’ in there?” Dutch shouted across the bank.

“Good!” Arthur replied, not sounding too confident. “But it ain’t as much as we expected!”

The older man dismissed his comment. “Well, take it anyways! Now is hardly the time to be picky, son! We got lawmen headed our way!”

“I know! I’m goin’ as fast as I can!”

Moving onto the next stack of cash, Arthur opened up a second bag and began piling money into that one, hurriedly trying to swipe every single note he could see. 

It sounded like someone was giving orders outside of the bank -- most-likely positioning their men to surround the building -- and just by listening to the scattered sighs of relief coming from the customers, he guessed that their gang was probably in the least favorable position right now.

How did they arrive so fast? Arthur wondered. He knew that something was amiss just based on the absence of any lawmen at the bank, but it still seemed odd to him that they were this prompt. 

There was no way in hell that any of this was a coincidence like Dutch suggested. Someone told the law where their gang was going, and when they were going to be there. Someone here was a traitor.

Now they just had to figure out whom.

“...Van der Linde!” A man’s voice bellowed, causing the entire gang to fall silent.

Arthur froze in the vault, glancing over his shoulder at Dutch.

“Who the hell is that?” He whispered. The older man gave him a puzzled look.

“No idea.”

Readying his guns, Dutch crept his way over to one of the windows and peeked through the dusty glass, subtly taking a closer look at their unexpected visitor.

He couldn’t see their face from this distance -- what with all the sand billowing around -- but it didn’t take long for him notice the array of Pinkertons that had gathered outside.

They were in more trouble than they realized.

“Dutch van der Linde!” The man repeated, sounding much more aggressive this time. “I know you’re in there! Get out here! Now! There’s nowhere for you to run!”

Dutch kept himself hidden behind one of the walls, making sure that none of the Pinkertons could sneak a shot in.

“...And to whom do I have the displeasure of speaking with?” He called out, earning a few snickers from the gang.

“Oh, you know me.” They replied, evidently not threatened. “Much better than you think, old friend.”

A single man emerged from the crowd on horseback, holding a shotgun in his grasp. 

He was dressed in a black suit and bowler hat -- similar to the rest of his comrades -- and he donned a familiar-looking mustache that instantly led Dutch to recognize his unforgettable face.

“It’s me,” the man said, “Edgar Ross. You remember, don’t you, Mr. Van der Linde? Your people shot my partner Milton in cold blood all those years ago. Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

Dutch scoffed. “Well, I must say, you certainly have a... unique approach to reunions, Mr. Ross. Normally when I greet people, I’m holding their hand. Not a gun.”

The Pinkerton’s expression remained flat. “Oh, I doubt that. Your lot are murderers, Dutch. Savages. You’ve become just as deranged as those Skinner Brothers, and everyone knows it. But not everyone knows how to deal with it. That’s the one mistake Milton made that got him killed.”

Ross cocked his shotgun, prompting the rest of the agents to follow suit.

“I told that man, time and time again, that if you want to cage a wild animal, you have to treat it like one. You can’t show mercy to those who don’t understand the concept of it. Otherwise, they’ll just perceive it as weakness.”

Dutch decided to hold his fire for now and warned the gang to keep calm, despite their itchy trigger fingers.

“Oh, come now, Mr. Ross.” He bargained, his tone sharp with caution. “Must this day end with even more bloodshed? You pride yourself on being a civilized man, after all. Do you not? So why don’t we conclude this situation with civility... and put our guns away? Like gentlemen.”

Agent Ross didn’t budge in the slightest. “Civility was damned the minute you walked into town, Dutch.”

Dutch’s entire demeanor shifted at the response, and Arthur could’ve sworn he saw something snap inside the old man. Something akin to a fire being ignited.

He had this look about him that said he was going to do something bold, and judging by the way he scanned the room, Arthur had a feeling it was going to be dangerously reckless, too.

What on Earth was he planning?

“Y’know what, Mr. Ross...?” Dutch said darkly, his voice rumbling like magma. “You’re right. Civility be damned.”

Without giving anyone time to react, the man suddenly grabbed one of the women in the bank and held a gun to her head, presenting her to the lawmen as she shrieked in fear.

“What the hell are you doing...?!” Arthur questioned through gritted teeth, completely forgetting about the money.

“Saving our lives...!” Dutch growled under his breath. “Just let me handle this, son.”

Dragging the woman so that she was visible through the windows, Dutch tightly held her in his grip and kept the pistol aimed at her temple, practically drilling the barrel through her skull.

“Shit!” Edgar’s partner Fordham exclaimed. “He’s got a hostage!”

Dutch chuckled at that. “Oh, I assure you, mister! I’ve got far more than just one! There are plenty of souls in here ripe for the taking, and I will most definitely take them all.” A malicious glint twinkled in his eye. “...Unless, of course, you let us go. We are... civilized folk, after all.”

Micah and Bill both laughed at that, but Arthur wasn’t anywhere near being amused. If their gang managed to survive this mess of a robbery, he and Dutch were certainly going to exchange a few words later.

“Shay,” Dutch whispered, gesturing to the explosives on his person, “plant a stick of dynamite on the rear wall, would you? It looks like we’re blasting our way out of here.”

Mackintosh nodded, bolting over to the other side. “Alright. Just keep ‘em distracted.”

The outlaw grinned. “Oh, don’t you worry, my boy. I will.”

Bringing his attention back to the Pinkertons, Dutch continued to restrain the woman as she frantically struggled in his grasp, sobbing due to the panic.

“Now, Mr. Ross,” he carried on, “I hate to put you in such a tough position, but if you want me to let these people go... I’m afraid I’m gonna need some assurances in return. A few favors, if you will.”

The Pinkerton glowered at him, refusing to comply. “Hubris will be the end of you, Dutch. Let that woman go. She isn’t a part of this.”

“Wasn’t.” Dutch corrected. “But now, I’ve made her a part of it. So, what it’s gonna be, agent? Can we come to some sort of understanding? Or shall we skip the small talk,” he pulled the hammer down, “and get straight to the shooting?”

Fordham turned to Ross, his face plastered with concern. “...We have to do what he says, Edgar. For now, at least. He’ll kill her otherwise.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...No. He won’t. A hostage is no use if they’re dead.”

“But you heard Dutch,” the young man persisted. “He has more than one. You’ve seen how far this gang will go. Who’s to say they won’t shoot them one-by-one until they get what they want?” 

Ross sighed in annoyance. “Do not believe the lies that these savages throw at you so easily, Archer. You really believe he has more than one? Dutch is just saying that to get the exact reaction he’s getting out of you.”

Fordham remained staunch. “Are you really willing to bet their lives on that? We can always recover the money stolen from this bank, but we can’t bring those people back once Dutch pulls that trigger. Whether he’s lying or not, we have to comply.”

In spite of the reluctance he harbored, Ross listened closely to Fordham’s words and reconsidered his stance on the situation, finally deciding that perhaps, his partner had a point.

Even though letting Dutch run away was the last thing he wanted to do, saving the lives of innocent people was more important. Dutch was most-likely going to die off soon anyway, considering the state of his health, but if there was any chance of having him face true justice, Ross was going to take it.

Still, he had to prioritize the safety of those hostages before anything else. They were completely defenseless in that bank, and if Dutch was actually telling the truth, then Ross didn’t want to be the one who simply stood by and watched as they died.

“Fine.” Edgar conceded. “We’ll stand down for now. Just make sure that he doesn’t--”

Before the man could even finish his sentence, a sudden explosion erupted from the bank and shook the entire city around it, causing the Pinkertons’ horses to rear out of fright as smoke polluted the air.

“What the hell?” Fordham blurted out, his eyes popping wide open.

“Goddammit!” Ross yelled. “They’re escaping through the back! Don’t let them get away!”

Whipping the reins on his horse, Ross and the rest of the Pinkertons immediately began galloping after Dutch as they charged towards the Great Plains, running like there was no tomorrow.

They didn’t hear any gunshots prior to the explosion, so Fordham assumed that Dutch had spared the hostages, but even then, their chances of survival were pretty slim. That bank certainly wasn’t the biggest one in America, and there was no way to guarantee that the dynamite hadn’t gotten them instead.

“They’re heading west!” Ross shouted, keeping his eye on the horizon. “Stop them!”

Opening fire on the Van der Lindes, the Pinkertons began showering the gang with a storm of bullets as they barreled their way across the open fields, leaving a trail of gun smoke and dust behind them.

A symphony of screams and shouts could be heard throughout the region as Pinkertons were sent tumbling off their horses by the Van der Lindes’ attacks, causing them to leave trails of blood on the golden grass below.

“You see them anywhere?” Fordham yelled over all the commotion, reloading his rifle.

Edgar did his best to peer through the smoke. 

“...No.” He said in disappointment.

Ross yanked on the reins and slowed down to a halt, commanding the rest of his men to do the same.

“Shit...!” He cursed, attentively scanning the tree line. “Those bastards are quick. I’ll give them that.”

Fordham caught up to his partner, slightly out of breath due to the sudden chaos. 

“Well, what do we do now?”

The other man gazed at the carnage behind them, more fervent than ever to take Dutch down. 

“Keep searching for them. While their trail is still hot. We’ll push them all the way to Armadillo if we have to, but it won’t be easy. There aren’t as many of them nowadays as there were before. It’ll be harder to pick up any tracks.”

Fordham gave him a firm nod. “Understood.”

“But first,” Ross said, stopping Archer before he could leave, “I want you and a few other men to check up on the hostages at the bank. Some of them could’ve survived. If they did, they’ll need someone to look after them.”

The young man felt a sense of relief upon hearing Edgar say that. “Right. Of course. On my way.”

“Then make it quick.” Ross ordered. “I don’t want to give these animals the chance to flee the state. We have them by the neck. It’s time we took them down for good.”

Turning back towards Blackwater, Fordham called out to some of the other Pinkertons and beckoned them to follow him, breaking into a sprint as they all rushed to the bank.

Meanwhile, Ross stayed behind and continued his search for the gang, admittedly feeling sour that he let Dutch slip from his grasp once again.

Why was that man so difficult to catch? He was nothing but another lowlife terrorizing the American countryside, and it wasn’t as if the Pinkertons hadn’t dealt with his type before. In fact, Edgar was even willing to wager that they had fought worse.

He supposed it had less to do with Dutch himself, and more with the people who surrounded him. They were loyal. Well-trained. Bred for killing. The type of men who would rather die than let their leader be taken.

That was why Milton’s methods never worked. He gave the other members a chance to leave Dutch behind without realizing that he was the only world they ever knew. He bet his survival on the assumption that those people had something to go back to when, in reality, the gang had become their new family.

In Edgar’s eyes though, they were all monsters. Every single one of them had to be eradicated if the Pinkertons ever hoped to find peace, and despite how he may’ve clashed heads with Fordham occasionally, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to catch them alone.

The Van der Linde gang was dying, yes.

But that was what made them so dangerous.

And this time, the Pinkertons were prepared.

~~~~~~~~~~

HALF AN HOUR LATER

AURORA BASIN

“D’you think we lost ‘em?” Micah asked as he brought his horse to a stop, his heart still racing from what happened at the bank. 

Dutch let out a deep breath and slouched in his saddle, coughing a few times before spitting on the ground.

“I... I think so.” He confirmed, slowing to a trot. “I doubt the Pinkertons will give up easily, but it doesn’t seem like they know where our camp is yet. We should be safe for the moment. Just keep an eye out. They already took us by surprise once. We don’t want it to happen again.”

Arthur grumbled at that and immediately hopped off his horse, almost tempted to hightail it out of West Elizabeth right there.

“Well, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you’d have just listened to me!”

Dutch looked at Arthur with a cautionary glare, his eyes wild from the fight. “I do not have time for this right now, Arthur...!”

But the younger man wouldn’t let up. “And when do you have time, Dutch? Huh? I tried to warn you twice about the risks that this robbery entailed, and twice you decided to ignore me!”

Arthur pointed outside the camp, his tone rough with disbelief. “You nearly killed that woman, Dutch. An innocent woman. Just like the one in Guarma.”

Micah scoffed. “Oh, you’re really gonna pull that one out, Morgan--”

“--Stay out of this, Micah.” 

Dutch raised his voice, shouting over the two of them. “Enough! Stop it. Both of you.”

He brought his focus to Arthur, evidently furious with the man’s constant doubt.

“Listen to me, son. I did... what I had to. It ain’t pleasant, but sometimes, survival comes before morality. You saw the way those Pinkertons scrambled once I took that woman hostage. Their hesitation is the only reason we managed to escape. What else could I have done?”

“You could’ve listened.” Arthur said. “You could’ve listened to all the people who’ve warned you ever since the beginning, but over and over again, you chose not to. And now look where we are!”

“We are still alive, Arthur!” Dutch replied.

“We’re dying!” He yelled back.

Falling silent after his sudden outburst, Arthur sighed in exhaustion and removed his hat, wiping some sweat off his brow as Dutch approached him.

“Arthur,” he said, his voice much gentler now. “I... I ain’t got that much time left. You know this.”

Dutch put a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“I need you to be with me in these final moments. Not against me. These Pinkertons -- they don’t care who they kill so long as they’re killing one of us. All they want is to destroy our gang, and that’s why we need to stick together in this fight. We cannot let them win, Arthur.”

The other man’s face sank with despondency. “...They’re already winning, Dutch. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with us. That’s just the way it is now. Civilization is gonna be on top of us soon, and we’re gonna disappear someday, too. Whether we’re ready for it or not.”

Having no more desire to argue with Dutch, Arthur hurriedly pulled the bags off his shoulders and slung them across his horse’s saddle, not even bothering to grab his own share of the take.

“Here’s the money we got.” He showed Dutch. “Do with it what you will.”

Contrary to what Arthur expected though, the other man didn’t throw himself at the cash and, instead, simply gazed at Morgan, his eyes lost in sorrow.

Arthur could tell that Dutch felt a little apologetic for pushing him away like this, and they both wished there was some way they could get through to the other, but with all the pandemonium surrounding them these days, it seemed like their words often carried next to no weight.

Their conversations usually had about as much progress as Manifest Destiny did in New Austin, and considering the fact that Dutch didn’t pull out his gun this time, Arthur wondered if the man was truly sorry for his actions.

“Arthur...” the man whispered, “I--”

Before he could say anything though, the disgusting sound of someone retching abruptly interrupted them, and upon turning to see where the source was coming from, Arthur saw Cleet clutching his throat in the distance, his face turning into an alarming shade of blue.

“What the hell...?” Arthur murmured, still trying to process the view. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?”

Shay took a closer look at him, suddenly breaking into a panic once he realized the man was dying.

“Oh, shit. He’s choking!”

Putting his things down, Shay instantly jumped off his horse and rushed over to Cleet in an attempt to help him, only to screech to a halt when a gush of blood came spurting out the man’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” Mackintosh exclaimed, staring widely at the horrific scene.

Meanwhile, Cleet collapsed to the stained grass beneath him and continued to writhe in agony, his lungs desperately gasping for oxygen, but to no avail.

His lips were purple, his eyes were bloodshot, his teeth were red, and the veins in his forehead protruded to the point where Arthur thought they might burst through his skin. There was a yellowish foam bubbling around the corner of his mouth now, and despite the gang’s efforts to help him, his condition only seemed to deteriorate.

Eventually, within a few short heartbeats... he was gone.

Just like that.

All because of one untimely meal.

“...Lord above...” Dutch breathed out, still in shock. 

“What... what the hell just happened?” Shay asked, gazing down at Cleet’s body. “Did he really choke?”

Arthur examined the man’s hellish-looking face, almost immediately coming to a conclusion.

“Of course not, dumbass. Look at him. Foam ‘round the mouth, bloodshot eyes, blue skin. Somebody poisoned Cleet.”

Bill called out to them from the supply wagons, adding even more problems to their already long list of concerns. “Yeah, and they also stole everything we have!”

Dutch strode over to him. “What’re you talking about, Williamson?”

“Look!” He pointed at the empty crates. “Our food, our money, our ammo -- it’s all gone! And our weapons are destroyed, too!”

Dutch glared at Joe with a deadly expression, clearly on the verge of killing someone. “Mind telling me what in the actual hell happened here, Joe?”

The poor man was at a loss. “Cleet and I didn’t see anyone in the camp, Dutch! I swear! There was no one here the whole time!”

“Is that so?” He snarled, grabbing Joe by the collar. “Then explain to me how Cleet was poisoned and our supplies were destroyed if nobody was goddamn here!”

Joe had no answer to offer. “I don’t know, Dutch. Truly, I don’t. I swear on my life--”

“--Good.”

Whipping out his gun, Dutch aimed the weapon straight at Joe’s forehead and nearly pulled the trigger, only to be stopped when Arthur intervened.

“Dutch, don’t!” He insisted.

“Why not?!” The older man asked, his jaw clenched in anger.

“Because we have no evidence that it was him! It could’ve been someone from outside the gang, for all we know!”

But Dutch wasn’t having any of it. “That’s what you believe? Oh come on, Arthur! How else could the Pinkertons have known when to corner us? How else could someone have snuck into our camp -- while we were all gone, no less -- and destroyed our supplies? Someone in the gang is helping the rat, and right now, I don’t see any other obvious suspects except for the one standing in front of me!”

Arthur rested a hand on Dutch’s arm, urging him to lower it. 

“Even if it was Joe, we don’t have time to deal with this now, Dutch. The Pinkertons are still lookin’ for us. We’ve got a fresh trail leading straight to the camp, and if we don’t leave soon, we’re all gonna be hanging from a noose by the end of the week. We’ll find out who the rat is once we’re in a safe location. Or safer, at least.”

Dutch took one last look at Joe and ground his teeth together, deciding to hold back for now.

“...Fine.” He complied. “But don’t think I’m just gonna drop this, Arthur.”

“Oh, I know, Dutch,” he agreed. “I won’t either.”

Returning to their lives, Arthur and Dutch finally calmed down and started helping the other members pack up the camp, both of them extremely disturbed by the events that just transpired.

Not only did they lose one of their men today, they also had a plethora of new issues to worry about.

The Pinkertons were on their tail, Dutch was losing his mind, their supplies were all destroyed, and now, it was pretty clear that someone among the gang had turned traitor. 

Why would they do this? Arthur questioned. What did they have to gain by killing a group of people who were already knocking on death’s door? Money? Power? Freedom from the rope? He had no idea.

Well, whatever the answer was, Arthur imagined they’d all probably be dead before they found out. The whole world was fighting against them now, and without anywhere else to run to these days, it felt like the walls were closing in on them.

Hope continued to wither away like a flickering candle, and seeing as how their family just got a little bit smaller, Arthur assumed it wouldn’t be long before the flame was completely snuffed out.

That was how the world functioned now. Civilization was bigger than all of them combined, and soon... it would consume them too. 

Such was the way of life.


	6. One More Target

THAT NIGHT

BLACKWATER SALOON

Storming up the wooden staircase, Micah quickly breezed through the other customers scattered around the saloon as he made his way to the young man, ready to beat some answers out of him.

According to the bartender, the man was still in Blackwater and hadn’t taken his leave yet, so Micah decided he’d pay the boy a visit after all the hell that broke loose at the bank.

He knew that the boy would cause some type of damage -- he didn’t seem to be on good terms with the Van der Lindes, after all -- but Micah never expected the kid to cause this much chaos.

Thanks to him, one of their men was dead, the Pinkertons were after them, their supplies had been destroyed, and on top of all that, Dutch was now on high alert for any traitors within the gang.

Micah had no idea if the boy was trying to get them arrested by the law, or just kill the whole lot of them by himself, but he planned on getting an explanation tonight.

And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Hey!” Micah called out, pounding a fist on the door. “I know you’re in there, princess. You and I need to have a chat.”

Waiting for a response, Micah heard nothing but the muffled sound of someone pacing around the room for a moment, leading him to believe that the boy was either trying to escape or find something to defend himself.

Micah knocked again. “Hey, cowpoke! Open up! Don’t make me break in there.”

This time, a voice replied.

“Gimme a damn minute!” 

After a while of waiting, the door finally creaked open to a slit and revealed nothing more than the protruding barrel of a pistol, causing Micah to let out an amused laugh at the hostile greeting.

“...You really is the suspicious type, ain’t you?” He teased.

Isaac didn’t budge. “I prefer the word ‘cautious.”

Micah leaned forward, speaking to the young man in a patronizing voice. “Well, whatever you wanna call it, I’d suggest openin’ this goddamn door right now. ‘Cause otherwise, I might just kick my way in there and give you a beating after that shit you pulled at the camp...!”

The young man scoffed. “I may be suspicious, but at least I ain’t stupid. You really wanna threaten someone who has a gun on you?”

Micah chuckled darkly. “A gun won’t do you no favors when we’re this deep in civilization, boy. You shoot me, and the law’ll be on top of you within minutes. I think I’ll be just fine.”

Isaac widened the gap slightly, allowing the other man to see him more clearly through the door.

“So why did you come here, then? You don’t exactly look like you’re here for a talk.”

Micah leaned against the wall, grinning slyly. “On the contrary, I came here for answers. It’s clear to me now that I underestimated you before, but after all the help I’ve given, I’d say an explanation is due.”

Isaac paused for a minute, contemplating whether to let Micah in or not.

“...Fine.” He settled with. “But I’ll keep my gun handy, if you don’t mind. You don’t exactly radiate with trust.”

Micah smirked at that. “Well, ain’t you a gentleman.”

Letting the other man walk in, Isaac quickly shut the door once Micah was through the entryway and lowered his voice, wanting to avoid the attention of unknown listeners.

It didn’t look like anyone else had followed Micah into the saloon, but purely based on the man’s sour mood alone, Isaac assumed the gang might’ve wanted revenge after everything he’d done.

He’d have to tread carefully from here on out.

“So,” Isaac began, sliding his pistol back into its holster, “what did you wanna ask me?”

Micah took a seat on one of the chairs and lit a cigarette, allowing himself to get comfortable.

“Well, for starters...” he let out a puff of smoke, “...why don’t you tell me your name, boy? Seems only fair, seein’ as how you know mine.”

The young man crossed his arms, admittedly reluctant to share it.

“...Isaac.”

“Isaac?” Micah repeated, dangling the cigarette from between his fingers. “That’s a good name. A strong name. I actually ran with a fella named Isaac many years ago. Sadly, the poor bastard couldn’t live up to it. He was a clumsy drunk. Only in it for the money. But you...”

The outlaw rose from his chair, pointing a finger at the boy. “...You’re smarter than you look, ain’t you? Not many people could’ve snuck into our camp the way you did. But damn, did you take us by surprise.”

Isaac gave him a puzzled look. “How d’you mean?”

“Joe and Cleet never saw you coming,” Micah explained. “They were certain that no one had tampered with our supplies while we was robbin’ the bank, and the encounter with the Pinkertons didn’t exactly help matters neither. Funny how they managed to corner us on the same day of our robbery.”

Micah narrowed his eyes at Isaac. “It’s almost like... someone told them what would happen.”

The boy shrugged. “You gave me the information.”

“All I told you was that we had plans for a robbery,” the older man corrected, his tone more stern now. “I never mentioned nothin’ about a bank. How the hell did you know?”

Isaac gestured loosely to the town around them. “What else is their to rob around these parts? I assumed you weren’t gonna rustle livestock.”

Micah sighed in frustration. “Well, whatever you was plannin’ with that Pinkerton ambush, it nearly got us all killed. Dutch had to take a woman hostage just to get us outta there. And when we got back to camp, poor old Cleet ended up chokin’ on his food. The rest of us probably woulda dropped too if he didn’t go down first.”

That caught the young man’s attention. “The poison worked? Who else did it kill?”

“Nobody.” Micah answered. “Cleet’s the only one.”

Isaac was visibly disappointed at the news. “So Mackintosh is still alive, then.” He pounded a fist on the desk’s surface. “Dammit...!”

Micah perked his head up in interest upon hearing that, causing him to pause mid-action.

“Wait, that’s who you’re after? Shay Mackintosh?” He chuckled at the realization, suddenly understanding why the young man was here. “I see now... you’re tryin’ to eliminate the rest of us, so you can reach little ol’ Shay. Not a bad plan, except for one tiny flaw...”

Isaac let out a bored breath. “...What?”

“Well, you did just poison our food. And destroy our supplies. And steal our money. And break our weapons. I just fail to understand how you expect me to give you information... when I’m starvin’ to death.”

The boy didn’t seem to concerned with the idea. “Simple. You give me what I need, and I’ll pay you back the money I stole. Bit by bit.”

Micah laid a hand on the grip of his revolver. “Or... I could just kill you now, and take it all.”

“You’d never know where to find it.” Isaac countered.

“You don’t have the money on you?”

“Of course not. You think I didn’t expect you to come stompin’ back over here after I took everything you own? Keepin’ that much money on me would’ve been a death sentence.”

Micah backed down from the argument and grumpily conceded Isaac’s point, clearly not too happy with where he’d ended up. 

Just a few days ago, he thought he finally had the opportunity to kick Arthur out of the picture and was planning to use Isaac as the weapon, only to now discover that the boy carried more experience than he initially thought.

If Micah had known that Isaac would actually be able to come through with his plans, he’d never have given him that much information. He figured the boy would’ve gotten killed somewhere along the way, but now, thanks to his own naivety, Isaac was hoarding all of their savings in some godforsaken armpit in West Elizabeth, and using that as a way to keep Micah on a leash.

He was trapped. And the only way out of this mess was through the very man who deceived him in the first place.

What a strange world they lived in.

“...Fine.” Micah grumbled. “What other information d’you need?”

Isaac glanced through the room’s window, making sure that nobody was listening in.

“Now that you’ve finished robbin’ the bank, I assume your gang’s gonna relocate?”

The outlaw nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Isaac took out the map Micah drew for him, flipping it to the blank side. “I need to know how you’re plannin’ to get there. Just gimme a route, or a town, or anything that could point me in the right direction.”

Micah eyed the map suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you just be concerned with the location itself? Why d’you need to know how we’re gettin’ there?”

“Because that’s the only time your gang will be vulnerable.”

The outlaw paused for a second, piecing the puzzle together in his head. “...So you’re thinking of attacking us on the road, then. Is that it?”

Isaac took out a pencil for Micah. “Yes. The poison didn’t kill Mackintosh, so it looks like I’m gonna have to take a more head-on approach. No more hiding in the shadows or attacking from a distance. I need to confront him face-to-face.”

Micah shrugged in uncertainty. “You sure, princess? It ain’t gon’ be easy. Especially since the rest of the gang will be there, too.”

The boy practically shoved the pencil into his hands. “That’s why I need your information. Then I can decide how I’m gonna separate the lot of you.”

The older man gave in to the kid’s persistence. “Alright, alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Taking a few minutes to scribble down another map, Micah roughly drew a clear line that carved its way through the Tall Trees region and down to Manzanita Post, curving back up to the Montana River just before the road hit Blackwater. 

“You’re takin’ the gang through Skinner Brother territory?” Isaac asked, noticing the direction of the route.

“We have to. Dutch wants to head back east in search of a cure for his illness.”

The young man rubbed his chin in thought, putting together a new plan in his head. 

“...That’d be a good spot to ambush the gang. There’s a lotta trees, and not that many places to escape. There’s also the fact that you have all them Skinner Brothers crawling around everywhere. It’d be easy to trap Dutch and his men.”

“Yeah, but it’d be easy for you to get stuck, too.”

Isaac’s mind wasn’t swayed. “I’m willin’ to risk it for this.”

“Fair enough.” Micah replied. “Just don’t come cryin’ to me when some crazy bastard’s got your hide roasting on a spit.”

Setting the pencil down, the outlaw finished his map before handing it to the boy, checking to see if he was satisfied with it.

“Is that everything you need?” He questioned flatly, evidently just wanting to go back to the camp.

Isaac thoroughly examined the piece of paper, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“For now.”

Micah held a hand out. “And my payment?”

Glancing up from the map for a second, Isaac dug into his pockets and pulled out another eighteen dollars, slapping the wad of cash into Micah’s palm.

“There.”

The outlaw licked his finger and began counting the individual bills, stuffing the clump of money into his coat once he was finished.

“Thank you, kind sir. I think I’ll head home now. Good luck on concludin’ whatever business it is you have with Shay. Can’t imagine what he’s done to get you on his tail... but I won’t cry for him.”

Leaving Isaac to his own devices, Micah made a swift exit out of the room and began quietly descending the stairs, not wanting to alert any of the other customers in case the Van der Lindes were among them.

He assumed the rest of the gang would have questions about where he was getting these sudden bundles of cash, but their skepticism meant virtually nothing to him, seeing as how they were already on the verge of death anyways.

At this point, Micah wasn’t even sure if he was interested in leading the gang anymore. He supposed it’d be possible to try and rebuild from the ashes that Dutch left behind, but considering the sad state of their small group of degenerates, he’d be better off hightailing it on his own and making money elsewhere.

He just hoped he could get rid of Arthur before that happened. That man had been a thorn in Micah’s side for far too long, and he knew as well as anybody that they’d never see eye-to-eye on anything. 

His only chance right now was to get Morgan out of the way, and then run off with whatever dwindling legacy Dutch left behind in his absence. 

Some may have called it cowardly, others may’ve called it rotten. All that mattered to Micah was that he made it out of this alive, and a whole lot richer.

It was the only thing he cared about these days, and the only thing that was holding him back.

Money.


	7. Family Reunion

THE NEXT DAY

AURORA BASIN

Hauling the last of their supplies onto the back of the wagon, Arthur lifted up the rear guard and secured them in place, making sure that the few things they had left wouldn’t get lost during the long trek ahead of them.

For the time being, their plan was to head south to Manzanita Post and replace any of the resources that were destroyed, as well as trade for some new weapons with the people there. Afterwards, they’d travel north to Strawberry and search for any tips that could lead them to their next big score.

Arthur didn’t know what could possibly be worth stealing in that small, little settlement, but it wasn’t as if their gang had much of a choice in the matter. Whoever attacked their camp left them with next to nothing, and now, the only money they had left was from the bank job. 

If they didn’t find something or someone to rob soon, they’d be at the end of their rope. 

And there was no telling what Dutch would do then.

“Arthur!” Someone exclaimed, causing the man to look over his shoulder. It was Joe, coming up to see him.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, moving onto the horses. 

Joe stepped next to the mounts, resting a hand on one of the hitching posts.

“I wanted to thank you.” He said.

“Thank me?” Arthur straightened his mount’s saddle, giving it a firm tug. “For what?”

“For savin’ my ass yesterday. Dutch nearly blew my brains out after what happened with Cleet. If you hadn’t intervened, I’d be dead in the ground by now. I owe you one.”

Despite the friendly sentiment, Arthur didn’t return Joe’s appreciative tone.

“Yeah, well... if it turns out you were the traitor after all,” he backed up from the horses, looking Joe in the eye, “...you’ll wish I let Dutch shoot you back there.”

Joe concealed his fear with a subtle gulp. “Of course. I understand. But, I was wondering something else...”

Arthur raised a brow. “...What?”

“Well... was anyone missing from the bank robbery?”

“Missing?” He thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Everyone we planned to bring showed up. Why?”

“Because if everyone was accounted for, then it makes no sense to say that one of our own people sabotaged the supplies.”

Arthur gave him a firm reminder. “...Assuming you weren’t the rat, of course.”

Joe nodded. “Of course. But Cleet obviously didn’t do anything, and if everyone was present at the robbery, then how the hell is it possible that one of us poisoned the food? We’re a tough gang, but even we can’t be in two places at once.”

Arthur shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe they poisoned it before we left.”

“I’m pretty sure someone would’ve seen that,” the other man argued. “And besides, I think everyone ate in the morning. If the food was already poisoned, y’all would’ve died long before the Pinkertons cornered you.”

The older man sighed, unable to dispute Joe’s point.

“I’ll admit...” he said reluctantly, “it don’t make much sense when you put it that way. Fine. What d’you think then, Joe? If it weren’t one of us that did it, then who?”

Joe checked their surroundings for a second, making sure nobody else was eavesdropping.

“Well, just based on the timing of Cleet’s death, I’d say the food was poisoned while y’all was at the bank. This means that whoever destroyed the supplies knew our schedule. They knew when we’d be the most vulnerable. And most importantly, they knew the layout of the land. Otherwise, there ain’t no way they’d be able to sneak in so easily.”

Arthur placed a hand on his hip. “So, what’re you saying, exactly?”

“I don’t think it was one of us that poisoned the food,” Joe stated. “However, I do think it’s one of us that’s helpin’ them.” 

The older man took on a more serious tone. “...And who d’you think that is?”

Joe shook his head in uncertainty. “Whoever has the most to gain.”

Arthur fell silent for a moment, taking in everything Joe just said. 

Despite his wariness about the whole situation, he couldn’t deny that the man raised a few good points. 

As far as Arthur could recall, nobody was absent from the bank robbery, and there were no disappearances along the way either. So it didn’t make sense to say that the culprit was one of them. 

And on top of all that, Arthur highly doubted that whoever poisoned the food would’ve stuck around afterwards. It was more likely that they bolted once the job was done, and hoped that the gang would take it out on somebody else.

Arthur had no idea if it was bounty hunters, or Skinner Brothers, or even the goddamned Pinkertons who were responsible for this, but now that he really thought about it... he was inclined to agree with Joe.

There was no way it could’ve been one of their own men that caused the damage, but it was definitely a Van der Linde that talked.

“Well...” Arthur said lowly, not wanting to reveal too many of his thoughts, “I still dunno what the hell is goin’ on here, but... you might be right. I just don’t understand why anyone would do this. Especially now, of all times.”

Joe shared Arthur’s confusion. “It doesn’t make sense to me either, but if we wanna survive this year, we better find the rat soon. I don’t like the idea of wanderin’ into all that civilization with a traitor among us.”

“Agreed. Lemme know if you see anything strange. Dutch is paranoid enough as it is. We don’t need him worryin’ about mutiny too.”

Joe nodded, taking his leave. “Will do.”

Returning to his business, Arthur finished up preparing the horses as they whinnied in anticipation and swayed their heads excitedly, clearly eager to get out of these treacherous woods. 

It wouldn’t be long now before the Pinkertons finally closed in on their location, and if Arthur’s instincts were correct, then Dutch’s plan to get out of Tall Trees wouldn’t go nearly as well as he expected.

There were just too many unknowns. Too many threats lurking in the shadows. For all they knew, the same person who poisoned their food could’ve been watching them as they spoke. 

Arthur just hoped that the limitations of civilization would slow them down a bit. Whoever was attacking them didn’t seem to be working with the law -- Pinkertons usually captured their targets alive -- and he doubted that the Skinner Brothers would be so covert with their tactics either.

No... he had a feeling that this was something different. Something more personal. The saboteur clearly had some sort of history with the Van der Linde gang that was motivating these attacks, and in Arthur’s eyes, it almost felt like they were trying to take them out before anyone else could.

He just didn’t know why.

“Arthur!” Dutch suddenly called from a distance, sauntering up to the wagons. “You ready to go?”

Arthur patted his horse on the neck, giving Dutch a firm nod. “Ready when you are. But what about the route we’re plannin’ to take? Everything look okay so far?”

Dutch coughed a few times, not even bothering to hide the weary look on his face. “You’re not gonna believe it. I sent Bill to scout the path ahead earlier, and he tells me one of the bridges we was gonna cross has been destroyed.”

The other man paused. "The hell? But everything was fine yesterday. How did it get destroyed overnight?”

Dutch was at a loss for words. “I have no idea. But this means we’re gonna have to take a detour. We’ll go along the central road to Manzanita Post instead, then head up north once we got the supplies we need.”

Arthur didn’t like the sound of that at all. “North? That’s where most of the Skinner Brother camps are, Dutch.”

“I know, son. But the only alternative route would take us so far south that the Pinkertons would most likely surround us before we even got near the state border. You know how big the Montana River is. They’d be able to pick us off there no problem. I’d rather deal with a few crazies than get captured by the law.”

Arthur let out a deep sigh, unable to think of any other solutions. “...Alright. If that’s the only choice we’ve got.”

Dutch put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with a sincere gaze. “Thank you for trustin’ me, Arthur. We’ll get through this. Now, c’mon. Strawberry awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

TALL TREES

Traversing the uneven terrain of the forest as the local wildlife scurried around them, the Van der Linde gang pushed through the silent woods as they kept their eye on the seemingly unreachable horizon, doing their best to remain hopeful.

Thanks to the collapsed bridge Bill reported earlier, they had been forced into the area of Tall Trees that was most notorious for disappearances, as well as having an alarming amount of Skinner Brother activity.

There wasn’t a single inch of this forest that felt safe to them, and with the constant threat of being attacked clawing at their minds, it was needless to say that the gang felt somewhat on edge.

It was only a matter of time until they snapped.

“How’s it lookin’ back there?” Dutch called out to the wagons behind him. “Everything seem to be in order?”

Shay gestured to the path beneath them. “Yeah, but I’ve noticed a lotta tracks on these roads, Dutch. Looks like someone’s been ridin’ around all over this place.”

Dutch didn’t seem too bothered by the observation. “Probably just Pinkertons searching for us. You see any sign of the bastards yet?”

“No, but we should be careful. These tracks look recent. I reckon whoever left ‘em is still roaming around here somewhere. They might not be friendly.”

Arthur sighed, lightly whipping the reins as Dutch sat beside him.

“Great. Another thing to worry about. You think it could be Skinner Brothers?”

The older man shrugged. “Who knows. There are plenty o’ things that could kill you in Tall Trees. If we’re lucky, it’ll just be a group of bandits targeting these roads.”

“Let’s hope so. I’d take a good, honest holdup over dealin’ with the law any day.”

Dutch chuckled. “Oh, absolutely. I didn’t think we’d ever see Agent Ross again -- not after everything that happened with Milton -- and yet, here he is. More despicable than ever.”

Arthur thought back to the robbery. “Did you see who his new partner was?”

He shook his head. “No, but he looked like a young man to me. Not as weathered as Milton or Ross. He seemed like the type of feller who would lack experience, but make up for it in brawn.” Dutch smirked humorously. “Kinda reminds me of you, all them years ago.”

Arthur laughed softly at that. “Not anymore, though?”

Dutch let out a tired breath. “Oh, I’m afraid not, son. We’re still strong, mind you... but even we ain’t as spry as we used to be. Time will do that to you.”

The younger man’s tone sunk a little. “...And, erm... how’s your health doing? You been feelin’ alright recently?”

Dutch cleared his throat. “About as well as you can expect at my age. I ain’t got long left in this world -- we both know that -- but I don’t want none of you cryin’ over me. I’m not dead yet. Let’s just focus on headin’ east and finding a suitable doctor who can treat me. Then we can start worrying about my health.”

Arthur decided to drop it for now. “Alright. Just... lemme know if you notice anything strange. I don’t wanna wait till it’s too late.”

The other man chuckled. “Worrying about your old man, are we, Mr. Morgan? Well, ain’t that just sweet.”

Bringing their discussion to an end, Dutch’s attention was suddenly diverted from Arthur when Micah shouted at him from behind, pointing out a peculiar obstacle blocking their path.

“Hey, cowpokes! I think I see somethin’ on the road!”

Squinting his eyes, Dutch peered into the distance and tried to make out the large object barricading the road, only to freeze in shock when he realized it was a toppled stagecoach decorated with corpses.

There were no signs of the culprit as far as Dutch could see, but judging by the freshness of the bodies and the smoke rising from the coach, he assumed they were killed not too long ago.

“...Ah, shit.” He murmured to himself, taking in the morbid scene. “This probably just happened. Poor bastards. Who d’you think did this?”

An alarm went off in Arthur’s head. “Well, I dunno who did it, but I sure as hell recognize those bodies. Is it just me, or do they look like Skinner Brothers?”

Dutch examined their mottled skin and diseased faces, unable to deny the resemblance. 

“No, it ain’t just you...” He replied grimly. “But who in their right mind would attack Skinner Brothers? And in broad daylight? Surely, that would bring nothing good.”

Arthur was at a loss. “It’s beyond me. But... somethin’ don’t feel right about this.”

Dutch raised a brow. “What d’you mean?”

“Think about it. Why the hell would you attack someone as crazy as the Skinner Brothers unless you were tryin’ to get attention? And to leave their bodies lying out in the open, right in the middle of the road...” Arthur put a hand on his revolver. “...I think someone wanted us to see this.”

A sense of dread filled the other man’s eyes. “Who?”

“No idea.” Arthur climbed down from the wagon, readying his gun. “But I’m gonna find out. Wait here.”

“Shay!” Dutch called, signaling the man to follow Arthur. “Go with him, will you? Let us know if you find anything.”

Carefully approaching the grotesque scene, Arthur and Shay quickly started to sift through the carnage that was left behind as they searched around for clues, curious to see who on Earth could’ve caused such a mess.

The stagecoach didn’t appear to belong to the Skinner Brothers -- the postal label on the side was enough to confirm that -- but its lockbox was full of cash and food instead of mail.

Right off the bat, Arthur assumed the Skinner Brothers must’ve stolen the coach and been using it to transport any valuables they looted, but he found it odd that whoever attacked them didn’t take any of it for themselves. 

It just made him wonder even more what the motivation behind this killing was, and for some unknown reason, part of him began to suspect that the person responsible for this also poisoned their food. 

He just couldn’t figure out what the correlation was.

“Hey, Shay,” Arthur said, “you see anything--”

Barely giving them any time to react, a lone bullet suddenly zipped past them and soared straight into a stick of dynamite that had been strapped to a nearby tree, causing it to explode with a bang as the impact sent Arthur and Shay flying backwards.

Meanwhile, the tree’s trunk snapped into two as the upper half collapsed onto the road, separating Arthur and Shay from the rest of the gang.

“Holy shit!” Mackintosh exclaimed, stumbling to his feet. “What the hell is this?!”

Arthur took cover behind the stagecoach, holding his revolver close. “No idea!”

“Hey!” Dutch yelled from the other side. “You boys still alive?”

“...For now!” Arthur answered. “But we can’t stay here! Y’all focus on findin’ another way around! We’ll catch up to you later!”

“But--”

Another bullet planted itself into the ground next to Arthur’s feet, prompting him to become even more frantic.

“--Just go!”

Staying behind while the gang fled in search of a detour, Arthur and Shay remained huddled up by the stagecoach as their pursuer continued to shower them with bullets, scraping off splinters of wood from the vehicle with every shot.

They couldn’t see who was attacking them or where they were, but just based on the direction of the trajectory, Arthur guessed they were firing at them from within the woods.

“Can you see them?!” Shay shouted over all the commotion, peeking around the edge.

“No! But I think they’re using the trees as cover! Keep shootin’ at the woods! I’m gonna try to get this stagecoach back on its wheels!”

Shay threw a bewildered look at him. “What? Why?”

“Because if we can get this thing movin’ again, then we can use it as cover while we make our way down the road. Now help me lift it up!”

“I thought you wanted me to shoot at them!”

Arthur stuttered. “I-- oh, for Chrissake, just lift it!”

Giving the coach a firm heave, the two of them worked together to bring it back to a standing position as their attacker carried on with the assault, trying fervently to take them out.

Arthur didn’t know why, but he got the impression that the assailant was mainly after him. All of their bullets seemed to be aimed in his general direction more so than Shay’s, and the fact that they separated him from the rest of the gang only made him wonder if they were a long-lost enemy he had forgotten.

“Jesus Christ...” He muttered through gritted teeth. He certainly hoped it wasn’t anyone who used to run with the Van der Lindes. Arthur already had a hard enough time when it came to fighting rival gangs or enemies that they encountered on the road, but if this was someone he knew from before... he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to kill them.

“Almost got it...!” Shay groaned in a strained voice, his arms now starting to quiver from the coach’s weight.

Finally tilting the sturdy vehicle back onto its wheels, Arthur hurriedly yanked one of the doors open and slammed his body against it, pushing the coach forward while Shay fired back at their attacker.

Judging by the way the foliage twitched with the pursuer’s movements, Arthur assumed they were venturing further down the path in an attempt to stop them and probably setting up some other kind of trap.

He had no idea if they had a second stack of dynamite lying around somewhere, or if they were going after the rest of the gang, but at the moment, Arthur only prayed he’d live long enough to find out.

“Shit!” Shay shouted as a bullet darted through one of the coach’s windows. “This bastard’s got good aim!”

Arthur pressed harder against the door. “Well, make sure yours is better!”

Forcing the stagecoach up a steep hill, Arthur mustered as much strength as he possibly could and flattened his palms on the door’s surface, trying to ignore the ache that was now spreading in his arms.

The vehicle budged a little bit, but even with all his effort, it wasn’t nearly enough to get the damned thing over the hill. He’d need help.

“Shay!” Arthur grunted out. “Lend me a hand here!”

Putting his gun down for a moment, Shay jogged over to Arthur’s position and helped the man push the stagecoach up the sharp incline, both of them now battling against its unforgiving weight.

With their strength put together, the coach finally started ascending the hill’s abrupt angle and continued to slide along the path, giving them some much-needed cover from the never-ending storm of gunshots.

“You got it?” Arthur checked, his boots now digging into the ground.

Shay gave the vehicle another shove, clearly struggling with it. “I... I think so...!”

Before anymore progress could be made however, another bullet suddenly hit the side Shay’s leg and sent him tumbling to the ground, causing him to cry out in pain as the stagecoach began to roll backwards.

“Goddammit...!” Arthur exclaimed once he realized the vehicle was headed straight for him. 

He tried to leap out of the way of the oncoming stagecoach and dove to the side of the road, but was ultimately rammed directly in the ribs before being thrown into the dirt.

He could hardly breathe. It felt like his heart had just been knocked out of his chest, and the whole world around him looked like it was going black.

He desperately gasped for air and crawled through the slick mud, unable to even see where his gun had dropped.

The only thing he could hear at the moment was his own hammering heartbeat and the feeble croaks that escaped from his battered lungs, accompanied by the muffled sounds of gunfire and shouting.

“...Shay...!” He wheezed, sluggishly rising from the ground. “...Shay...! Where... are you...?”

Scanning his surroundings, Arthur gazed further down the road and managed to spot Mackintosh himself at the top of the hill, scrambling around in panic due to the new wound in his leg. What really caught Arthur’s attention, though... was the fact that he was no longer alone.

Yanking out his hunting knife, Shay frantically tried to get away from the stranger and wildly swung the weapon a few times, only to receive a fist to the face when the assailant grabbed his arm.

The sheer force of the attack sent him reeling back and caused a fresh stream of blood to flow from his nostril, staining his lips and teeth red.

It shocked Mackintosh how strong his opponent was, considering their seemingly young age, but it was more than evident to him now that this man was no stranger to these types of affairs.

There was an undeniable ferocity in the nature of his attacks, and just based on the pure sense of hatred that illuminated from the man’s glare, Shay guessed this was an enemy he had made in the past.

He just couldn’t figure out who he was.

Lunging at the young man again, Shay limped towards the attacker and sliced his knife downwards, cutting a gash in the stranger’s coat but not actually reaching his skin.

He lost balance due to the bullet now buried in his leg and plunged to the ground beside the young man, allowing his opponent to turn the tide of the fight.

Taking out his own knife, the stranger grabbed Shay by the collar and hauled him to his feet, making sure he couldn’t escape. Afterwards, he took hold of Shay’s abdomen and thrust the blade forward, jabbing the weapon deep into his gut.

“...Mackintosh...!” Arthur exclaimed upon witnessing the attack. 

He tore himself away from the ground and weakly approached the violent scene, hoping to help Shay even though he knew it was too late.

The man was already bleeding profusely from the stomach and had hardly any color left in his skin, but even then, it was obvious that the young man wasn’t done with him yet.

Ripping the blade out of Shay’s stomach, he slammed the man against a nearby tree and held him in place, looking directly into his tormented eyes.

There was a sense of despair engraved in the young man’s expression, and the longer Shay studied his oddly familiar features, the more he began to recognize him.

“...Shay. Mackintosh.” The stranger growled slowly, his tone sharp with anguish. “I finally have you. After fifteen, goddamned years... I finally have you.

Shay stared at the young man in fear, unsure of whether or not he was identifying him correctly.

“Who... are you?” He breathed out, still exhausted from the fight. “Why are you... tryin’ to kill me...?”

The stranger gave him a firm shake, his grip growing even tighter.

“Look at me,” he urged. “You know me, Shay. Far better than you may think.”

Taking a minute to sift through his memories, Shay practically watched his whole life flash before his eyes as he thought back to where he was fifteen years ago, trying to reshape the world around him.

At first, nothing immediate came to mind, but upon peering deeper into the young man’s sorrowful gaze, a specific memory suddenly jumped out at Shay, and he felt his entire body freeze.

He remembered three other men. Three other outlaws.

Charles Baumann, Thaddeus Blackmore, and Eli Whitley.

They robbed a cabin. Killed the owner too. She was a young woman, hardly into her twenties.

And worst of all, Shay remembered she had a son. A boy of only six years. He witnessed the whole murder, and ended up being taken in by them due to Whitley’s insistence.

But Shay never watched him grow up. He abandoned the small gang not too long after they killed the boy’s mother. The guilt would’ve destroyed him otherwise.

Now, though, everything made sense to him. The Pinkerton ambush, the poisoning of the food, the sabotage of the supplies... it was all linked to him. It was all because of what he did fifteen years ago.

This young man was that same little boy, and he had come for revenge.

“...Isaac Morgan.” Shay said plainly, finally understanding who he was. “It’s you. You’re still alive... after all this time.”

Isaac clenched his jaw, attempting to hide the tears that glossed over his eyes.

“I couldn’t die.” He replied, his voice trembling slightly. “Not without killin’ you first. You and your men... you took everything from me. You took Eliza from me.”

Shay closed his eyes in remorse, not even bothering to bargain with the boy.

“...I know, Isaac.” He said gently. “I know what we did was wrong. That’s why I left. Eli, too.” 

A morbid thought crossed Shay’s mind. “...Where is Eli, anyway? Are you lookin’ for him as well? Or have you found him already?”

Isaac nodded. “He’s dead, Shay. Him and the others. You’re the last one.”

Mackintosh wasn’t surprised. “...I thought so.”

Interrupting their exchange, a soft rustle suddenly emitted from behind Isaac’s back and caused him to whip around in curiosity, leading the young man to find himself face-to-face with a new stranger.

Isaac recognized the man as the same gang member Shay was riding with earlier, but contrary to what he expected, the man didn’t appear to be hostile. Instead, he approached the two of them peacefully, and kept his gun in his holster.

Still, Isaac wasn’t willing to take any chances and immediately pulled Shay into his grasp, holding the knife up to his throat.

“Back off!” He warned. “I will kill him!”

The other man raised his hands in a diplomatic manner, attempting to calm the boy down.

“...Easy, Isaac,” he soothed. “It’s okay. Just take it easy.”

The boy paused abruptly, unsure of how to react. “What? How d’you... how d’you know my name? Who are you?”

The man steadily approached him, keeping his hands in the air. 

“I heard your conversation with Mackintosh,” he explained. “You... you lost your mother when you was a boy? Is that right?”

That only confused Isaac even more. “How the hell do you know Eliza was my mother? Why do you even care? Answer my question! Who are you?” He pressed the knife harder into Shay’s throat.

The man stopped in his tracks, not wanting to provoke the boy any further. Instead, he decided that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario and simply reached upwards to remove his hat, unveiling the familiar face that hid underneath.

He couldn’t believe it. Mere moments ago, Arthur was dragging himself through the mud, doing anything he could to survive. He genuinely thought today would be the day he died, but now... he was talking to someone who he never thought he’d see again.

He didn’t know if the boy would remember him, or if he would even still love him after all those years of being separated, but one thing was for certain -- Isaac was Arthur’s son.

And against all odds, he was still alive.

“...It’s me.” Arthur revealed, doing his best to keep himself together. “I’m your dad.”


	8. Like Father, Like Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer to get out, guys. I was feeling kind of burned out this week and didn’t want to rush the next chapter, but I hope you enjoy it!

TALL TREES

MORNING

Isaac stood frozen in the rain, paralyzed by shock.

A flood of memories hit him all at once upon seeing the stranger’s face, and for just a moment, he truly believed he was dreaming.

Was it possible the man told the truth? Was he really Arthur Morgan? Isaac didn’t know what to think at this point.

Initially, he believed the man only lied in order to get his guard down, but the longer he observed his features and studied his eyes, the more he could see an all too familiar face staring back at him -- a face that he presumed to be dead many years ago.

Isaac never saw a corpse to confirm his father’s death, but due to the lack of contact over the past decade and all the chaos in the world, he simply assumed that Arthur had gotten killed somewhere at some point. 

It surpassed the probability of miracles to even consider that his father may have still been alive, and yet... here he was. After fifteen years. Alive, and in the flesh.

His very own family.

“...Daddy...?” Isaac whispered, the little boy in him breaking through for just a second. “Is that... is that really you?”

Arthur nodded in return, his eyes misty with tears of joy. “It’s me, Isaac. And it’s really you. After all this time of thinkin’ you was dead... you’re still alive. I... can’t believe it.”

The young man fell silent and shook his head at the response, still somewhat incredulous.

“But how... why are you here, Dad? What’re you doin’ with the Van der Linde gang? I... thought you died a long time ago.”

Arthur stepped closer to Isaac, careful not to alarm the boy.

“I’ve been with them for over thirty years now, Isaac. I was a part of this gang even before you were born.”

The young man seemed surprised. “And you never left?”

“No. Even though I should have.”

A regretful sigh escaped the older man, and his tone sank with heartache. “I’m sorry, Isaac. If I had known you was alive... I woulda come lookin’ for you. I woulda tried to get you back. But I thought those bastards had killed you for sure.”

Isaac’s expression twisted into one of hate. “Well, you can thank this piece of shit for that. It’s all because of Shay that our family got torn apart. He killed Eliza. He dug that second grave so everybody would think I was dead. He ruined our lives all because he just wanted some goddamn money.”

Arthur brought his gaze to Mackintosh, admittedly having difficulty accepting the true nature of his friend.

“Is that true...?” He asked. “You knew my son was alive all along, and you never told me?”

Shay held onto Isaac’s arms, struggling to stay upright with the wound in his gut. 

“...Yes.” He confessed. “From the very first time I met you, I knew that you were Isaac’s father, but I couldn’t risk sayin’ anything. I knew that if I told you, I’d be done for. You woulda learned about what I did sooner or later, and it was just a chance I couldn’t take. I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s voice hardened with steel. “Yeah? And how d’you think things are lookin’ for you now?”

The man let in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the pain. 

“I know, Arthur. I know. What I did was unforgivable, and I regret it every single day. But if you wanna let Isaac kill me now... I...” Shay’s voice trailed off in way that said he knew he was finished, and his brow furrowed in fear, “...I understand.”

Isaac strengthened his hold on the knife, preparing to slit Shay’s throat. Before he did anything though, he glanced up at Arthur, almost as if he were asking for the man’s approval.

“...Dad?” He murmured. “Let me do it. Please. Let me have this.”

Glaring at Mackintosh in silence, Arthur took a moment to ponder his next move as he thought back to that horrible day, unable to even comprehend how much of his life changed because of it.

Back then, he was roughly the same age as Isaac. Just a kid doing his best to support his partner and their new son, while also running around with a gang of outlaws at the same time.

He had no idea what it meant to be a father, or how to raise a child. Hell, in the beginning, Arthur even wished that he hadn’t been so careless and gotten Eliza pregnant in the first place. The responsibility of being a parent scared him halfway to death, and because of his criminal background, he felt like he could never truly be honest with Isaac about who he was.

But the day Arthur saw those two graves standing outside their house... it felt like his whole word stopped turning.

His lover, his son, their future together as a family -- all of it was just gone.

The things he valued most in life had been taken away from him, and he didn’t even realize how much he loved them until they disappeared.

Now though, his entire world was realigning itself once again.

Isaac was... alive. He actually survived. Arthur had spent all these years mourning someone he never even lost in the first place, and now, he finally knew who to blame.

Shay Mackintosh. 

The only man in the gang he ever believed to be somewhat decent, now exposed as the man who murdered Eliza. It was because of his lies that Arthur spent so long living in the darkness, and it was because of his actions that their family never got to experience a normal life.

All this time of wondering who was responsible, and Arthur finally had the opportunity to get his revenge. He just had to give Isaac his approval.

But... no.

He couldn’t allow it. 

He wouldn’t.

Even though the idea of killing Shay proved itself to be more tempting than a siren’s call, Arthur knew better than anyone that vengeance was a fool’s errand. It did nothing except breed more rage and agony, and the last thing he wanted was for Isaac to fall victim to his own hatred.

That wasn’t the life Eliza would’ve wanted for him, and it wasn’t what Arthur planned for him either.

He had to stop this madness.

“Isaac! Wait.” Arthur called out, causing the boy to pause. “...Don’t do it.”

Isaac stared at his father in bewilderment, unable to process what he’d just heard. 

“...What? What d’you mean--”

“--Don’t kill him.” Arthur reiterated, trying to calm him down. “It ain’t worth it. Believe me.”

The boy scoffed, clearly not on the same page as Arthur. “It ain’t worth it? How can you say that? After everything I’ve told you, after everything Shay’s done to us -- you want me to spare his life...?!”

“I know,” Arthur agreed, sharing his son’s grief. “But trust me, son. The sacrifice is never worth it. I’ve seen far too many people lose themselves to revenge over the years, and I don’t want you to go down the same road. You ain’t a murderer, Isaac. You know that, and so do I.”

Isaac glowered in response, evidently feeling betrayed. “...I can’t believe you. This man murdered the mother of your child! He kidnapped me! He ruined our lives because of his own greed. He deserves nothing but death! ”

“And how many lives have you ruined, Isaac?” Arthur pointed out. “You killed Cleet -- someone who had nothin’ to do with Eliza’s death -- just so you could reach Mackintosh. And you nearly sacrificed the whole gang to the Pinkertons for the same reason.”

Arthur slowly approached Isaac, desperate to stop his son now.

“Can’t you see what this is doin’ to you? It’s destroying you from the inside-out. If you continue to follow this path, you’ll be no better than the men who killed Eliza. You’ll be no better than Shay.”

Isaac shook his head in dissent, tightening his grip on the knife. “...I’m not tryin’ to be better. My potential for a normal life died fifteen years ago. All I want now is for Shay to be dead.”

Despite the boy’s reluctance to comply, Arthur continued to persist.

“Isaac, listen to me. I want Shay dead too, alright? I ain’t any happier about this than you are, trust me. But if you kill him, this fight’ll never end. Dutch is already worked up about Cleet. If someone else in the gang dies, he’s never gonna let it go. He’ll come after you, and he will do everything he can to kill you.”

The young man was dismissive of the warning. “Let him come. I’ve dealt with his kind before.”

“No, you haven’t,” Arthur insisted. “You have no idea how dangerous Dutch can be. That man nearly shot me not too long ago, and he sees me as a son. How d’you think he’ll deal with someone who’s his enemy? Someone like you?”

Isaac sighed in frustration. “Dutch can send the entire goddamn gang after me for all I care. I’ve been huntin’ Shay down for the past fifteen years. I can’t let him go now.” He pressed the blade into Shay’s skin, giving Arthur a remorseful look. “...I’m sorry, Dad. I have to do this.”

“Isaac...!” Arthur reached out a hand, trying to stop the boy from going any further.

But it was too late.

In one swift motion, Isaac pulled the knife across Shay’s throat and sliced it open, finishing him off as the man collapsed to the ground and choked on his own blood, clutching his neck in panic before falling limp.

It was done. 

Baumann, Blackmore, Whitley, Mackintosh... they were all dead. Just like that.

After almost two decades, Isaac’s hunt for revenge was finally over, and his mother’s killers lay rotting in the ground where they belonged.

Inevitably, though -- as the natural course of the world took its place -- a new war had been ignited... and this one would follow Isaac for much longer than he anticipated.

Alerted by the sound of Dutch and his men coming closer to the scene, Arthur quickly tore his mind away from what just happened and grabbed Isaac’s arm, looking the boy directly in the eye.

“Isaac, you need to run. Now!”

The boy held onto Arthur’s arm, urging him to follow. “Come with me, Dad.”

The older man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Just go!”

Isaac took a few steps back, not quite taking his leave yet. “But you will follow me, right?”

“I don’t know, I--”

Breaking the silence, a gunshot suddenly thundered throughout the area as a bullet cut straight through the edge of Isaac’s right ear, causing him to reel back in shock.

“Isaac!” Arthur exclaimed, standing protectively in front of the boy.

“I’m... I’m fine...!” Isaac assured, though the blood running down his neck said otherwise.

“Arthur!” A third voice called out abruptly, getting the older man’s attention.

Turning around to see who it was, Arthur spotted none other than Dutch riding up to them in the distance as the rest of the gang followed from behind, leading him into a dilemma.

The last thing Arthur wanted to do was betray the man who raised him, but considering Dutch’s recent behavior, he wasn’t sure if the gang was even worth fighting for anymore.

Their lives consisted of nothing but paranoia these days, and seeing as how Dutch almost killed one of their own men purely based on speculation, Arthur didn’t want to see his reaction once he figured out Isaac was his son.

The man already feared that their gang had a traitor hiding amongst it. If he learned that the person responsible for both Cleet and Shay’s deaths was Arthur’s own kin, that may’ve solidified his doubt in the man.

As far as Arthur was concerned, his life with the Van der Lindes ended the moment he discovered Isaac was still alive. Dutch may’ve been his family at one point in time, but now, Arthur needed to focus on staying loyal to what mattered.

And to him, that meant protecting Isaac. Regardless of the cost.

“Go!” He urged his son, shielding him from the gang’s attacks. “Let me deal with ‘em. I’ll catch up to you later if I can!”

“Be careful, Dad.” Isaac pleaded. “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

Arthur gave him a reassuring nod. “You won’t.”

Sending the boy off to safety, Arthur watched him vanish into the woods as Dutch hurriedly approached the two of them, ready to start a war. 

He had no idea how this next conversation with Dutch was going to play out, and the optimistic side of him hoped that the man might see reason, but deep down -- he knew this would be the last time he and Dutch ever greeted each other as friends.

Dutch saw the world in black and white, after all. Everyone was either with him, or against him. There was hardly ever any grey area, despite how much he may have preached about it.

It was only a matter of time before Arthur fell into the realm of what Dutch considered to be the enemy, and with so much at stake, he knew that the old man would never allow peace to be an option. He was far too proud.

Arthur just wished it didn’t have to end this way.

“Arthur!” Dutch barked, scanning the trees. “Where’d that little shit get to? Is he still nearby?”

The other man faced Dutch, his expression plastered with dread. “Dutch, I--”

“--Why’d you let him go? What’d he say to you? Did he bribe you? Why are you protectin’ him? Where is he--?”

“--Dutch, he’s my son.” Arthur blurted out, causing Bill and Joe to fall into silence. Micah, on the other hand, merely burst into laughter at the revelation.

As for Dutch, the man glared at Arthur in disbelief, taken aback by the whole situation.

“...Since when do you have a son?” He asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Since I met Eliza,” Arthur explained. “You remember her, don’t you, Dutch? All them years ago? That woman from the saloon. I’d visit her cabin every few months or so and check up on them. See how things was going.”

Dutch’s eyes widened in realization. “Eliza...? Yeah, I remember her. You mean to tell me that that man... is Isaac? I thought they both died.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Evidently, I was wrong. Turns out only Eliza got killed that day, but Isaac survived.”

“And how does Mackintosh fit into all this?” He questioned, gesturing to Shay’s lifeless body. “Why kill him and Cleet? Why attack our gang like this?”

Arthur sighed in guilt, still wishing he could’ve stopped Isaac earlier. “Revenge. Shay was the one who murdered Eliza, so Isaac tracked him down for over a decade, and it led him to us. Cleet just got caught in the crossfire. It had nothin’ to do with him, or you, or me.”

Dutch gazed at all the damage Isaac left in his wake, hardening his tone. “It does now.”

“Dutch,” the other man pleaded, knowing exactly where this was going. “Please. Don’t go after him.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

Arthur thought the answer was obvious. “Because he’s my son.”

“Yeah, and you’re my son.” Dutch countered, losing his patience. “Remember what I told you, Arthur. Family don’t turn their back on you. So don’t you go turnin’ your back on me now. We need to stick together. After everything Isaac’s done to our gang, we need to kill him.”

“No, we don’t! Nobody else needs to die. Hasn’t there been enough of that? Isaac got what he came for. He won’t bother us again. You really wanna risk everyone’s lives goin’ after someone who’s no longer a threat? Fightin’ him would be pointless. Either you leave him alone, or...”

Dutch caught onto Arthur’s tone immediately, wary about what his next words would be.

“...Or what?”

The younger man lowered his head, heartbroken that this was where they had ended up.

“Or I’m done with this gang.” He finally admitted.

Immediately after saying that, Arthur could’ve sworn he felt something snap inside of Dutch, and the whole world seemed to come to a halt. It was the same feeling he received when Hosea passed away, except this time, it felt far worse. 

There was no emotion in Dutch’s eyes. No sorrow. No regret. Nothing. They were just... empty.

He had the look of a man who knew he had just lost his closest friend, and without even saying a single word, Arthur could already predict how this day was going to end.

He rested a hand on his pistol, readying himself for the chaos to come.

“So,” Dutch said, sounding devastated, “this is the way it goes, old friend. You were just like everyone else, after all.”

Arthur bit his lip, nodding softly. “...We both were.”

“Well, then...” the older man subtly reached for his revolver, clearly still reluctant to shoot his friend, “you’re aware of how this ends. I can’t just let you walk out of here, Arthur. You know that, don’t you.”

Arthur braced himself, already thinking of how he would escape from these woods. 

“...I know.”

Not willing to take any chances, Arthur quickly whipped out his gun and fired a bullet right next to Dutch’s head, wanting to distract the man without actually killing him. They may have been enemies from here on out, but that didn’t mean there was no love lost between them.

Darting straight for the thick trees, Arthur seized the opening and followed Isaac’s methods as he ducked for cover behind the many obstacles in the forest, making it difficult for the Van der Lindes to get a clear shot on him.

Running away from a gang he used to call family made Arthur feel like he was abandoning a home he never truly had, and with every step he took deeper into the woods, the more he felt a sense of crippling loneliness sinking into him.

Was this the right thing to do? Was it worth sacrificing everything he had built for a son he never got to raise?

Maybe not, in some peoples’ eyes. Hell, some might have even called him crazy. But to Arthur, that boy was everything. 

He had spent so long feeling like his life had no purpose -- that he was destined to live the rest of his days as an outlaw, but now, after ages of hitting a dead-end, he finally had a chance to redeem himself.

He was no longer going to be a killer, or a thief, or a liar. He wasn’t going to harm those who didn’t deserve it, and he was finally going to step up as the father he should’ve been all those years ago.

Love was always a gamble in this world for men like him, but it was the only thing that kept Arthur human.

And so, without another thought, the man sprinted further into the forest like there was no tomorrow, leaving everything in his past behind him.

His life with Dutch may have been over, but his life as Isaac’s father had just begun.


	9. A Long Road

A WHILE LATER

UPPER MONTANA RIVER

Trudging through the dry, golden fields of the Great Plains, Arthur tiredly dragged himself across the state as a lonely wind breezed past him, filling the emptiness with a peaceful silence and the soft rustling of weeds.

There was no one else around at the moment. No civilization, no bandits, no camps -- nothing. All Arthur could see right now was the wide, open sky stretching out for miles above him, and a collection of white clouds blanketing its vast space.

It had been a while now since the Van der Linde gang stopped chasing Arthur, and for about an hour, he had been wandering alone, searching the land thoroughly for Isaac.

He didn’t know if the boy made it out alive, or if he was even still in the vicinity, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he felt like he had failed Isaac by not convincing him to spare Mackintosh.

That poor kid was hurting on the inside. Arthur could see it clear as day. Despite the shield he held in front of himself, and the distrustful nature he carried, it was no secret to the man that his son never quite recovered from Eliza’s murder. And now, they were all paying the price.

Arthur just didn’t know how he’d pull Isaac away from the edge. He wasn’t exactly one to talk when it came to berating others for doing wrong, but it was clear to him now that the boy had no interest in showing the Van der Lindes any mercy.

If Dutch came after them -- and Arthur knew he would -- Isaac would kill them all, or die trying. 

He couldn’t let that happen, though. Death was no longer an option. That boy was the only real family Arthur had left. If anything were to happen to him, he didn’t know what he’d do. 

And he wasn’t willing to find out.

Following Isaac’s tracks to the north, Arthur used the trail of flattened grass and tiny blood splatters to guide him, leading him to come upon the Upper Montana River.

There, he spotted a dark brown Thoroughbred standing next to what looked like an abandoned cabin, as well as a bloody handprint on the door.

He assumed Isaac had taken refuge in the decrepit building and decided to approach it, taking out his gun just in case the man wasn’t alone.

Creeping up to the front door, Arthur steadily made his way to the dilapidated porch and glanced through the shattered windows, seeing nothing but cobwebs and specks of dust floating in the air.

It reminded him of the cabin back at Aurora’s Basin. It had the same isolated mood to it that made you feel separated from the troubles of civilization, and if Arthur squinted hard enough, he could’ve sworn he saw Dutch sitting in his rocking chair, observing the outside as always.

Placing a light hand on the doorknob, Arthur cocked his gun and slowly pulled the thing open, bracing himself for the worst. 

So far, nothing in the house had moved yet, and the only sound he could hear was the creaking of old wood, but if anything unfriendly revealed itself on the inside, the last thing Arthur wanted to do was start another gunfight while he already had a gang hunting him down.

There were Pinkertons still roaming in the area, after all, and Arthur had no doubts that one more shootout was all they needed before they’d be able to track the Van der Lindes down.

He’d have to be extra cautious from here on out. Not just for Isaac’s sake, but also for his.

Stepping into the cold shadows of the cabin, Arthur had barely walked through the door before he heard a man’s voice threatening him to lower his weapon, leading him to bring his attention to the other end of the hall.

“...Don’t move.” The man ordered, sitting on the floor. “Or I’ll shoot your goddamn brains out...!”

It was Isaac, thank God.

“Whoa, easy there,” Arthur said, raising his hands. “It’s just me.”

Isaac relaxed upon seeing Arthur’s face, putting his pistol down as he clutched his wounded ear.

“Dad?” He replied, his voice strained due to the injury. “Sorry. It’s just... I didn’t expect you to actually come. Wasn’t sure if you’d follow me after everything that went down with Dutch, but... I’m glad you’re here. Were you followed?”

Arthur gazed over his shoulder, shrugging. “I don’t think so. I doubt the Van der Lindes would chase me this far out into the country. Not when the majority of their supplies have been destroyed.”

Isaac furrowed his brow in concern. “...And what about when they restock?”

The older man holstered his gun and approached the boy, letting out a worried sigh. “...We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Arthur crouched in front of Isaac, eyeballing his bloody hand. “You feelin’ alright, son? How’s that ear doing?” 

The boy hissed in pain. “It’s ringin’ like hell and the bleeding hasn’t slowed down that much, but... I’ll live.”

The older man leaned in closer. “Well, at least lemme take a gander.”

Uncovering his ear, Isaac lowered his arm as Arthur observed the fresh bullet-wound and narrowed his eyes, trying to examine it through the darkness.

“Yep... bullet nicked the edge of your ear pretty good,” he noted. “It’s gonna look like Swiss cheese from here on out, I’m afraid. Luckily, though... I don’t think it hit anything too important. Your hearing should be fine, if a tad unbalanced. Just make sure it don’t get infected.”

That seemed to relieve the boy. “...I will. Thanks.”

Taking a seat next to Isaac, Arthur leaned back against the wall and let out a deep breath, admittedly drained from everything that had occurred so far. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he and Dutch were officially enemies now, and on top of all that, he couldn’t quite process that Isaac was really alive either.

Arthur had spent so long having nightmares about seeing those two graves and wondering if he could’ve done anything to save them, but now, after all these years, he was finally sitting side-by-side with his very own son, spending time together like the family they were meant to be.

The outlaw chuckled quietly at the thought, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. 

“...You still look the same. Y’know that?”

Isaac returned the sentiment, cracking a small smile. “So do you.”

Arthur grinned and removed his hat, wiping some sweat off his brow. “Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’m not sure we’d have recognized each other back there.”

He put his hat back on, giving Isaac an uneasy look.

“You, um... feelin’ okay after all that? After killing Mackintosh, I mean. I know you ain’t no stranger to this sorta thing, but... still. I worry.”

Isaac sighed in an unsatisfied manner, clearly conflicted about the situation.

“I... don’t know how to feel.” He answered simply. “I mean, I’m glad Shay and his men are finally dead, but... I just feel like there’s somethin’ missing.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “You thought killing Shay would provide a sense of peace. Or justice. You believed that everything would go back to normal once he died, but instead, you just feel empty. That sound about right?”

Isaac fell silent, unsure of how to express his thoughts. “I guess. I just... I didn’t expect him to go so willingly. Eli and the others, they all tried to convince me to spare ‘em. But Shay... he didn’t even fight back in the end. Didn’t argue. Just sat there, and let me...” his eyes fell to the floor, “...let me slit his throat.”

Arthur attempted to offer some perspective. “You ain’t the only one who’s had time to think about Eliza’s death, Isaac. I dunno how Shay was before, but despite how angry I was back there, I can’t deny the man sounded sincere when he said he regretted it. Seems like we all make choices that chain us to our past.”

That piqued the boy’s interest. “What about you, Dad? You ever do somethin’ you didn’t like? Something that... really affected you?”

The other man lowered his head in shame, unable to deny the truth. “Oh... I’ve done many bad things, Isaac. Sometimes they were for the good of the gang, sometimes I was just downright rotten. I don’t wanna fill your head with all that, but... just remember, I’ve seen some pretty terrible stuff during my time as an outlaw. Met some terrible people. And a lot of them started out as decent folk who lost themselves to revenge.”

Isaac quirked a brow. “...Like who?”

Arthur paused at that, still somewhat reluctant to accept his “father’s” true nature. “...Like Dutch.”

The boy’s curiosity grew. “Who is Dutch to you, anyways? Everyone I’ve talked to so far has said that he’s out of his mind, but... you’re tellin’ me you stuck with him for thirty years. There’s gotta be more to him than that.”

“Oh, believe me. There is. In fact, Dutch is probably the most complicated man I’ve ever met. In the beginning, he was like a father to me. Took me in when I was just a boy and taught me to read. Taught me how to fight, too. Hell, pretty much everything I know these days came from him. He was like a mentor and a guardian, all in one.”

Isaac listened intently. “So, what happened? How’d he turn into... what he is now?”

Arthur thought back to his time in Saint Denis, recalling all the moments where Dutch slowly started to lose his mind.

“Well, it didn’t happen all at once.” He explained. “It was a gradual process. Dutch was a man with a lot of responsibilities. A lot of pressure. He had to take care of the gang, think of what we’d do next, and where we’d go. It weren’t easy. Eventually though, the time came when civilization started to spread rapidly throughout the States, and the Pinkertons became more ruthless than ever. They started killin’ our men. Infiltrating our camps. Gettin’ our own people to betray us. It was a goddamned mess.”

“It certainly didn’t help matters when people outside the law started steppin’ on Dutch’s toes, too.” He continued. “There was an oilman -- Leviticus Cornwall. He was a pompous, brazen piece of work. He funded the Pinkertons. Helped them track us down. He was like a thorn in our side that would just never go away. And then, there was another feller. Angelo Bronte. Slimy, Italian bastard livin’ it up with the high society of Saint Denis. He set us up multiple times, and nearly got us killed.”

Isaac shrugged. “So... what’d you do to them?”

“I didn’t do anything. Dutch, on the other hand... shot Cornwall in broad daylight. Right in the middle of Annesburg, no less. As for Bronte, he drowned him in a swamp before throwin’ his corpse to the gators. And this was before our gang fell apart.”

The boy couldn’t deny that even he was shocked by that.

“Jesus...” he muttered. “Can’t imagine how you dealt with him for thirty years.”

Arthur scoffed in an amused tone, coughing a few times. “Neither can I.”

Deciding to change the subject, the older man pushed aside his memories for the moment and flipped the conversation over to Isaac, inquiring about his past.

“What about you, son? What was Shay like when you knew him?”

Isaac chuckled, unsure of where to even begin. “...Shay was always hard to read, back in the day. He definitely wasn’t the worst in the gang, but he weren’t no saint either. I think Eli was the only one who could really bring out his good side. The two of them were like brothers, after all, so Shay listened to him. Though, to tell you the truth, he didn’t stick around for that long. Shay left the gang when I was only... what, ten? Eleven? I don’t remember him that well, to be honest.”

“And what about the rest of his gang?” Arthur asked. “You mentioned there were other men involved?”

“Charles and Thaddeus.” Isaac confirmed. “They were there when Eliza died too. Thaddeus was... distant. A cold-hearted bastard who didn’t give a damn about anything ‘cept for money, but... he taught me everything I know. How to shoot, how to hunt, how to track. He had about as much emotion as a rock, but he had a sense of honor. Believe it or not.”

“What about Charles? What was he like?”

Isaac immediately glowered at the man’s name, crinkling his nose. “He was absolute scum. The worst of the worst. He was a creep, too. There were times when I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see him ogling me. Like a piece of meat.”

A sense of dread sparked inside Arthur. “He never... did anything to you, did he?”

The boy shook his head. “No. Thaddeus wouldn’t let him.”

Arthur sighed in relief. “Well... I suppose there’s that, at least. I’m just sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.”

“Don’t be,” Isaac reassured. “There was no way you coulda known I was still alive. Besides, you’re here now. You chose to follow me despite being affiliated with Dutch, and I won’t forget it.”

Picking up his gun, the boy stood up from the floor and took a minute to glance at the cabin around them, observing the empty space.

“Hey, Dad... d’you think we could stay here? Just for tonight? I don’t think I have the energy to set up a camp elsewhere.”

Arthur rose to his feet, patting dust off his legs. “I guess one night wouldn’t hurt. Dutch and his men are headed for Strawberry, so I doubt they’ll come sniffin’ around here. We shouldn’t stay for long, though. Never know when the law will turn up.”

A sudden thought crossed his mind, leading him to stop Isaac in his tracks.

“Hey, that reminds me. Dutch is convinced there’s a traitor in gang. He thinks that somebody helped you poison the food and also told you about the robbery. Is that true?”

Isaac nodded, slinging his rifle around his shoulder. “Yeah. One of your men approached me while I was stayin’ at the Blackwater Saloon. Offered a lot of information for some cash.”

“Who was it?”

“Micah.”

Arthur let out a disappointed breath, placing his hands on his hips. “Goddammit. That snake. So Joe was tellin’ the truth all along. I shoulda known...”

Isaac caught onto his father’s shift in mood, following suit.

“You want us to go after Micah?”

The older man rejected the suggestion. “No. He ain’t worth the trouble. Right now, I just need you to focus on stayin’ alive, and stayin’ the hell away from Dutch. If we happen to cross paths with Micah, then we’ll go from there, but I don’t want you hunting him down like you hunted Shay. Understand, Isaac?”

The young man’s expression flattened in disappointment, but he complied nonetheless.

“...I understand.”

“Good. We got each other now, so let’s not risk our lives for somethin’ we’ve already lost.” Arthur patted his shoulder in an encouraging manner, walking towards one of the bedrooms. “Anyways, that’s enough of that. Let’s make this cabin a bit more homey for the night. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Okay.” Isaac replied, his tone quieter now. Before the two of them could get to work, he said one last thing to Arthur, feeling somewhat apologetic about his actions in Tall Trees.

“...Dad?” The young man called out.

Arthur turned around, stopping just in front of the door to one of the other rooms. “Yeah?”

Isaac gazed at the floor, admittedly a tad embarrassed. “...I missed you.”

The older man smiled warmly at the comment, wanting to pull the boy into a hug right there.

“I missed you too, kiddo." He said, wishing Eliza could've seen them now. "It’s good to have you back.”


	10. The Deal

THE NEXT MORNING

OWANJILA DAM, WEST ELIZABETH

Gazing out at the enormous lake, Dutch sat alone on the edge of the dam as he lost himself in the marvelous view laid out before him, letting his mind wander freely with the sounds of water trickling and birds chirping.

The mountains on the horizon formed a majestic, jagged border that separated the lake from the sky, and for as far as the naked eye could see, Dutch found nothing but a colony of lush trees dominating the landscape as the water beneath mirrored their reflection.

There were animals of all sorts gallivanting through the wilderness and disturbing the overall peace of the foliage, scuttering away from the people that traveled the roads.

The environment sang vigorously with life around Dutch, and yet, despite the serene state of the world surrounding him, the man himself could not have felt more hopeless on the inside.

Arthur... was gone.

He was actually gone.

After thirty years of riding together side-by-side and raising that man as a son, Arthur had finally turned his back on the gang. And now, Dutch was all alone.

Just like in the beginning.

Reaching into his coat, Dutch fumbled through his pockets for a bit before pulling out Arthur’s journal and delicately opening it, curious to skim through its mysterious contents.

Ever since Arthur was just a boy, he always found solace between the pages of a blank book, but never allowed anyone else to see his drawings. They were the “sacred texts,” so to speak.

Anytime someone tried to catch even a glimpse of his sketches, Arthur would always snatch the thing away and hide it somewhere safe from prying eyes. It was one of the few things he valued more than money, and as the years went by, everyone eventually learned to just leave it be.

That was, until now.

The clumsy man dropped the damned thing when he made a run for it back in Tall Trees. The flap on his satchel came loose sometime during the fight, and within a moment’s notice, it just... slipped out. Of course, there was no time to return the journal to its rightful owner, but Dutch didn’t have the heart to leave it lying in the mud either.

So, with a heavy heart, he decided to take the journal back to camp and keep it as a memento of what their family once was. Strangely enough though, instead of the comfort Dutch expected the item to bring, it offered nothing but a sense of loneliness.

Every time he flipped through its worn pages, he’d only be reminded of everything he’d lost over the years, and the son he loved dearly who abandoned him just like the rest of the gang.

It made Dutch’s blood boil to think about Arthur’s betrayal. He sacrificed life and limb to keep that boy safe, and within the span of a few weeks, the man had turned traitor and run off with a kid he hardly even knew.

Meanwhile, his family of thirty years got left behind in the dust during their time of need, and remained forgotten alongside their distant memories.

Dutch may have been old, and he may have been living on borrowed time, but before all this was over, he swore to himself that he would get closure.

Their gang had a code these days, and no one went against it without paying the price.

Not even Arthur.

“Boss?” Someone said, tearing Dutch from his thoughts. The man looked over his shoulder.

“Micah,” he said with relief, “you’re back. Got any news for me? How’d things go in Strawberry?”

Micah stood next to Dutch, taking in the view alongside him. “About as good as you’d expect, all things considered. We managed to replace most of our supplies with the stuff from the general store. It ain’t as fancy as what we had before, but it’ll keep us afloat for now.”

The older man nodded in approval, closing the journal. “Then it’s good enough. Listen, I sent Joe out scoutin’ earlier. He thinks we can set up a camp somewhere near here. It ain’t that far away from civilization, but we’ll have a reliable source of food and water. It’ll give us some time to gather our senses before we move on with the plan.”

Micah seemed to have no qualms. “Fine by me, boss. Whatever you think is right.”

Taking their minds off the gang’s current state for the moment, the two of them fell into a solemn silence as Micah closely observed Dutch’s expressions, clearly able to see that the man was far from happy.

“Dutch,” he said, trying to get the man’s attention. “I gotta ask you something.”

The other man brought his gaze back to the lake, letting out a series of coughs. “Yeah?”

“...What’re we gonna do about Arthur?”

Dutch sighed, glaring into the emptiness around him. 

“The only thing we can do. We are gonna find that man, and we are gonna show him what it means to betray our gang. Freedom always comes at a price, and he’s gonna learn that. But it ain’t gonna be easy. You know Arthur. He’s as strong as he is smart, no matter how much he tries to deny it.”

The other man chuckled. “While that may be true, how well do you think he can fare against an entire gang? Even with that little shit helpin’ him out, I doubt he’ll stand much of a chance.”

Dutch shrugged. “I don’t know. The only thing that’s for certain, is we’d be fools to underestimate him. Arthur’s always been a force to be reckoned with, and if we ain’t careful, he’ll kill us all before any of them Pinkertons do.”

“And what about the boy?” Micah asked. “We plannin’ to kill Isaac, too?”

Dutch nodded. “Of course. He’s the man who started all this. He killed Cleet, he killed Shay, and I assume he’s responsible for sicking the Pinkertons on us back at the bank, too. We’ll do our damndest to survive this year, but I sure as hell plan on takin’ Isaac down with us if we don’t.”

Standing up from his seat, Dutch sauntered past Micah and quickly lit a cigar, preparing to take his leave.

“But first... let’s just focus on gettin’ this camp set up. We’ll be no use to anyone if we’re starving and exhausted. Let’s get some rest, and then we’ll talk about our next step.”

Micah removed himself from the dam, following Dutch’s actions. “Whatever you say, boss.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

UPPER MONTANA RIVER

Wetting a small rag with some gun oil, Arthur gently cleaned his revolver as he relaxed in a rocking chair, keeping himself warm by the fireplace while Isaac slept on a nearby couch.

It was still pretty early in the morning -- roughly only an hour or two after dawn -- and Arthur had just woken up from a night of some much needed rest.

So far, no one had come wandering near their cabin aside from a few deer and a handful of coyotes, but overall, things were relatively calm in the region. And Arthur didn’t trust it one bit.

He never liked staying in the same place for too long. With the amount of people tracking him down these days, it was always one hell of a risk to remain in one location for more than a day.

Arthur couldn’t count the amount of times he’d been greeted by the barrel of a gun upon waking up in his tent, or ambushed by bounty hunters when he tried to cook a meal. And even though he knew Isaac was in serious need of some sleep, he couldn’t help but feel things were a little too peaceful, considering the circumstances.

Where was Dutch? Or the Pinkertons? Arthur supposed the Van der Linde gang would require some time to regroup as well, but the fact that he hadn’t seen any sign of the law out here made him suspicious.

It didn’t take him much effort to follow Isaac’s tracks to this cabin, so he found it difficult to believe that the Pinkertons didn’t know where they were either. They had a small army of men backing them up, so it was far more plausible that they had already discovered Arthur’s location, but were simply waiting for the right moment to strike.

He’d have to keep an extra close eye out today. 

Placing the rag down, Arthur slipped the revolver back into his holster and reached for his hunting knife, wanting to sharpen it a bit before heading back out.

His hope for today was that he and Isaac would be able to catch some food in the wilderness once they got everything settled, but judging by how close the Pinkertons were to them, Arthur assumed they wouldn’t be the only ones hunting in the woods.

It just made him wonder when all this pandemonium would finally come to an end. Would he, by some miracle, actually manage to escape the world of outlaws and keep Isaac safe? Or would it all come crumbling down just like the gang, and throw them to the wolves?

He supposed only time would tell.

Dragging the stone down the edge of his blade, Arthur paused mid-action when he heard Isaac let out a sudden gasp, causing him to jolt his head in the boy’s direction.

It looked like the young man was still asleep, but at the moment, he was twisting restlessly on the couch and breathing in a panicked rhythm, moving his legs in a way that almost felt like he was trying to run away from something.

“Isaac?” Arthur said, attempting to wake the man, but to no avail. He put his knife down and walked over to the couch, kneeling beside the boy.

“Isaac.” He repeated, a bit more firmly this time.

The young man shook his head in fear, still trapped in his dreams.

“...No...” he muttered softly. “...S-Stop...!”

Arthur gripped Isaac’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. “Isaac, wake up.”

Feeling the touch of Arthur’s hand, the boy suddenly sprung into consciousness and snapped his eyes open, frantically observing the room as his mind tried to calm itself from its alarmed state.

“What...?” Isaac exclaimed in a breathy voice, bringing himself into a sitting position. His gaze landed on Arthur. “...D-Dad?”

Arthur patted his shoulder in a comforting manner, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re alright, kiddo. You was just havin’ a bad dream. Ain’t nothing wrong.”

Isaac sighed out of relief at the news and slouched in his seat, taking a moment to relax as Arthur eyed him worriedly.

“You okay?” The older man checked.

“Yeah...” Isaac replied, sliding a hand down his face. “I’m fine. I just... thought the dreams would stop by now.”

“These dreams happen often?”

“Almost every night.”

Arthur was quiet for a second, hesitant to ask his next question. “...Was it about Eliza?”

Isaac nodded, his eyes drooping with fatigue. “They always are. Though, it was different this time.”

“Different how?”

The boy waved a dismissive hand. “Ah... I don’t wanna bore you with the details. It ain’t that interesting, believe me.”

Arthur leaned in closer, grinning. “Try me.”

The young man flipped through his memories, trying to recall the events from his dreams.

“Well... usually, it’ll start off in my room back at mom’s cabin. I’m always a little kid in these nightmares, so everything’s taller than me. I’ll be playin’ with some of my toys, mindin’ my own business... when suddenly, I’ll hear a lotta commotion coming from downstairs. Like someone’s breakin’ into the house. I can tell something’s wrong, so I’ll hide under my bed. Meanwhile, there’ll be these men shouting at each other. They clearly ain’t friendly, so I won’t move from my hiding spot.”

“After a while, though,” Isaac carried on, “I’ll hear a gunshot. Followed by mom’s screaming. After that, I’ll hear a second gunshot, and the screamin’ stops. I’ll run downstairs and slam the door open, and mom’ll just be lyin’ there on the floor. Dead. Staring at me.”

Arthur admittedly found himself horrified by the details that Isaac described from memory, but brushed over it nonetheless.

“...And this time?”

Isaac’s expression fell flat. “This time... Shay was there, too. Normally, it’s just mom’s body that I find, but in this dream, Shay’s corpse was next to her. Staring at me just the same.”

The older man sighed morosely and rubbed his chin, thinking about everything the boy said.

“Sounds to me like you’re feelin’ guilty about killing him.”

Isaac shrugged. “Guilty? I dunno if I’d call it that, but... I sure as hell ain’t as content as I thought I’d be. It’s all just... so confusing.”

The young man gazed at Arthur inquisitively, curious about his experiences.

“Do you ever have dreams like that, Dad? Do you see the people you kill?”

Arthur nodded, somewhat ashamed to open up about his misdeeds in the past.

“Sometimes. It’s inevitable, after all. Takin’ a life ain’t easy, and it don’t come without a cost. When you kill someone, you’re also killin’ a part of yourself. If you’re still feelin’ conflicted about Shay’s death, then perhaps that means you haven’t lost yourself completely.”

Isaac glanced downwards, trying to make sense of his thoughts. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He brought his focus back to Arthur, abruptly switching the topic.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean to ramble on about that for so long. We got things to do, and I imagine it’d be best if we got outta here as soon as possible. Any ideas on where we should start?”

Arthur rose to his feet, gesturing outside. “Well, since we got clear weather today, I figured we could go hunting for some food. Maybe stop by the river and catch a few fish, too.”

Isaac smiled in an impressed manner. “You a good fisherman?”

The other man scoffed. “Heh, not even close. But I get by. Well enough to survive, at least.”

“That’s good,” the boy remarked, “because I’d wager I’m even worse. Guess I know who I get it from now.”

Arthur laughed at that. “Who knows, if our luck holds up, maybe we’ll manage to catch some seaweed. Now, c’mon. We should get outta here.”

Isaac’s eyes widened in remembrance. “Oh, wait, before we leave, there is somethin’ else we should do first.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

The boy stood up from the couch, stretching his arms. “You know that money I stole from your gang? Well, it was quite a good sum. Enough to keep us goin’ for a while. Problem is, I don’t have it with me. But I do know where it’s hidden... and it won’t be easy to reach.”

Arthur didn’t like where this was going. “Where’d you hide it?”

“Just outside Blackwater. It’s in the trunk of this big ol’ tree. I stuffed it in there ‘cause I assumed Dutch’s boys wouldn’t go anywhere near that town once they was done robbing the bank.”

Arthur let out a worried breath. “Well, you were correct. You think it’s worth the risk? How much money did you steal from us?”

Isaac whipped up a rough estimation. “Around two thousand.”

“Two thousand?” The older man repeated. “Jesus Christ. I didn’t realize Dutch had saved that much. He always made it sound like the gang was damn-near destitute. We could certainly use that money, but there’s a whole lotta Pinkertons swarmin’ that area.”

“I know, but it ain’t like we got any other options. Any good ones, that is.”

Isaac studied the look on his father’s face, interested to hear his advice on the matter.

“...So? What’re you thinking?”

Arthur contemplated their choices, clearly reluctant to head back to Blackwater. The town’s population had practically been entirely replaced by Pinkertons, after all, and with the Van der Lindes’ recent robbery at the bank, he imagined the law had only gotten tighter around there.

If he and Isaac were going to retrieve that money, they wouldn’t be able to let anyone see them. Not a single soul. They’d have to go in, and out. No questions asked, no traces left behind.

“Alright.” Arthur finally decided. “We’ll go. I’ll follow you for now, since you know where it’s hidden, but stay close to me, alright? And do as I say. I ain’t takin’ any chances around these Pinkertons.”

Isaac nodded firmly. “Sounds good. But... you can’t really follow me if you don’t have a horse of your own. I assume you left it at Tall Trees?”

“Yeah. Poor girl’s probably lost somewhere in that forest by now.”

The boy offered a suggestion. “Well, tell you what -- when we get the money back, I’ll go into Blackwater and buy you a new horse from the stables. I don’t have any wanted posters pinned up in that town, so it should be safe for me to roam around.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Isaac replied. “We can’t always ride on the same horse. Besides, I think Aldo will appreciate not havin’ to carry double the weight.”

Arthur chuckled. “Fair point. Alright, then. We go to Blackwater, we get the money, you buy a new horse, and then we disappear from this goddamn state. Got it?”

“Got it.”

The older man gathered their things and headed for the door, holding tightly onto his guns.

“Then let’s get going.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE BLACKWATER

Trotting through the empty fields that surrounded Blackwater, Isaac scanned the landscape for a particularly large tree while Arthur kept a lookout for any Pinkertons, both of them on high alert.

There were a few scattered patrols traveling along the roads in the distance, but it didn’t look like any of them had noticed Arthur’s presence so far. They were mainly concerned with the city’s entrances more than anything, and appeared to be observing all the people who came into town.

If Isaac was going to head down to stables later, he’d have to avoid the law completely. He may not have had any posters hanging around the city, but Arthur still didn’t like the idea of him wandering too close to those vultures.

He had seen for himself just how untrustworthy they could be, and even though Isaac gave them that tip about the robbery, Arthur had no doubts that Ross would turn on Isaac in the blink of an eye if it meant he could get his next paycheck.

That man was even more a snake than Milton ever was, and Arthur had a feeling he would end up being far more trouble than he was worth.

That was usually how it went with these types of folk.

“There it is!” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to a tree not too far from them. “The money’s in the trunk.”

“Alright then,” Arthur replied, coughing into his elbow. “You go on and fetch it. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Hopping off of Aldo, Isaac swiftly made his way over to the tree and climbed on top of a boulder, allowing him to reach the hole in the trunk where the money had been hidden.

“Looks like it’s all still here.” He announced, counting the bills in his hand.

“Good. You think it’ll be enough to buy a new mount?”

“Should be.” Isaac stuffed a chunk of the money in his pocket, giving the rest to Arthur. “Here, take this. I won’t need all of it at the stables. Now... you got any preference? Any specific breed or color you want?”

The older man wasn’t too picky.

“Anything fast and strong’ll do me just fine,” he settled, getting off of Aldo. “Just... make sure it ain’t an Arabian.”

Isaac raised a brow. “You sure? Arabians are some of the best horses out there.”

“Yeah, and they’re also some of the tiniest. Do I look like I could fit on one of them?”

The boy chuckled at the image. “Fair enough. Okay then. I’ll go to the stables and find you a ‘not an Arabian.’ Wait here with Aldo. I’ll be back soon.”

Strolling off into the distance, Isaac covertly made his way into Blackwater as the Pinkertons circled the town around him, oblivious to his presence there.

Meanwhile, Arthur stood next to the tree and leaned against its trunk as Aldo casually munched on a clump of grass, patiently waiting for his owner to return.

Arthur had to admit -- despite practically having the entire world against him at the moment, he felt much more at peace now that he was with Isaac.

He still felt somewhat guilty for leaving Dutch behind after promising so much to him, but now that he was free from the old man’s iron fist, Arthur couldn’t deny that things were much better. Much calmer.

It was like he could finally breathe. He no longer had to worry about his every move, or setting Dutch off by saying the wrong thing. Right now, it was just him and his son, traveling alone in the American wilderness. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Arthur said to Aldo, soothing the horse after it let out a nervous whinny. “Isaac’ll be back soon, and then you’ll have a new partner.”

“So will you, it seems.”

Whirling around at the sudden voice, Arthur went straight for his revolver and nearly yanked the thing out, only to freeze mid-action when he realized he had been cornered by Agent Ross himself.

The man was once again accompanied by his friend Agent Fordham, and had a hefty-looking shotgun resting on his shoulder. Judging by their calm temperament, Arthur assumed the two of them had been expecting to catch him alone today, and it only made him wonder just how long these snakes had been following him.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Arthur asked, his voice low and wary.

Edgar’s expression twisted with annoyance. “Cleaning up Dutch’s mess, obviously. You boys certainly caused quite the commotion at Blackwater’s bank, blowing it up with dynamite and whatnot. Robberies like that don’t just undo themselves, you know. It’s the civilized folk -- folk like me -- who have to sweep away the damage you savages cause. But I must admit... I’m surprised to see you’re not with Dutch any longer. I assume Mr. Van der Linde finally snapped?”

Arthur sighed in frustration. “The man snapped ages ago. Your people just sped up the process.”

“My people,” Edgar emphasized, “are simply doing what we must to survive. We wouldn’t have to constantly make use of the gallows if your people only followed the rules of our society. Society isn’t just run by one man, Mr. Morgan. It’s run by the politicians, the police officers, the responsible citizens of America -- by order. It’s what makes us... different from you.”

The outlaw scoffed, uninterested in the Pinkerton’s rhetoric.

“Whatever you say, agent. All I know is what I’ve seen. And from what I’ve seen, you lot is just as rotten as we are. Now, tell me what you’re doin’ here so we can get this over with.”

Edgar snickered in amusement. “Ooh, tough guy, aren’t you? Very well, then. Allow me to get straight to the point. I’m here to offer you a deal, Mr. Morgan.”

“A deal?” Arthur repeated in bewilderment. “I don’t deal with Pinkertons.”

“Just... hear me out.” The agent persisted, restraining his irritation. “Obviously, you care quite a big deal about that boy you’re traveling with. And before you ask, yes, we know all about Isaac. In fact, his file’s sitting on my desk right next to yours. He’s a tragic tale, really. Mother murdered at age six, father a well-known criminal. He’s a smart young man. It’s a shame he had to end up with the likes of you.”

“Which is why...” Edgar continued, “Agent Fordham and I have agreed to extend a hand of mercy here. Your son is still very young, Mr. Morgan. If he plays his cards right, he could make something of his life. So, here’s my offer. Turn yourself in, and we’ll leave Isaac alone. I can’t guarantee the law will show any leniency with you, but we’ll make sure the boy doesn’t swing.”

Arthur almost laughed at the incredibly dubious deal.

“You really expect me to believe you?”

“I expect you to be smart. Though, I don’t expect Isaac will be happy even if you accept. So sit down with him. Talk to him about my deal. Convince him not to come after you once we’ve taken you away, and let him live a civilized life. You’re his father, after all. Isn’t his happiness your main priority?”

Arthur glowered at Ross. “...My main priority is to keep him safe. I may not be the most intelligent man out there, Mr. Ross, but I ain’t a fool neither. For all I know, this is could just be some plan to separate me and the boy. That way, you can attack Isaac when he’s all alone, and I’m not there to protect him. Well, forget it.”

The Pinkerton didn’t seem fazed by the response. “Well, fortunately for you, I’m giving you three days to think about it. Decisions like this aren’t made overnight, I understand. But for your sake, and the boy’s, I hope you’ll come to your senses. All I ask... is that you consider it.”

The outlaw gave him a cautious look. “...And if I don’t accept?”

“Then we’ll just have to kill you both.” Edgar answered simply. “So I’d suggest that you sharpen up and realize... your life is already over, Mr Morgan. Now, it’s just a matter of how it ends. So choose wisely.”

Tugging on his horse’s reins, Edgar turned around and steadily began making his way back to Blackwater, beckoning Fordham to follow him.

“If you change your mind,” he called out, “come find me at my office in Blackwater. I’ve ordered my men to stand down for the next three days. Don’t make me regret it.”

Breaking into a sprint, the two Pinkertons galloped away from the scene and disappeared over the horizon, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts as he waited for Isaac to come back.

The outlaw wasn’t sure what to make of all this. Was it possible that Edgar was being sincere for once? That man may have been a conniving bastard with a deceitful tongue, but Arthur knew Fordham to be more of an upstanding citizen. Perhaps this was his doing, and the deal was genuine.

If that was the case, then Arthur’s answer was pretty clear. The last thing he wanted was for any harm to come to Isaac, so if turning himself in was the only way to prevent it, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

On the flip side however... if this turned out to be just another one of Edgar’s traps, he couldn’t leave Isaac to deal with them alone.

The boy was skilled, that was for certain. But even he couldn’t fight them all on his own.

Arthur supposed he’d just have to sit the boy down and talk with him about it. He had a feeling he already knew what Isaac was going to say, but it was his safety that mattered here. Not Arthur’s.

He already lost the boy once thanks to Shay and his men all those years ago, and he definitely didn’t plan on letting it happen again. Not when so much was at stake.

“Dad?” Isaac called, returning to the tree with a new horse in his possession. “I’m back. I got you a nice Andalusian. They had a Shire horse sittin’ in there, but I thought he was too bulky. Figured you might like somethin’ with a bit more flexibility.”

When Arthur didn’t respond, the boy walked up to him and gazed at him worryingly, noticing his uneasy demeanor.

“...Dad?” He said again. “You okay?”

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts, still unnerved by his encounter with the Pinkertons. “Y-Yeah. Thank you, son. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

“You sure?” Isaac checked. “You seem kinda... nervous.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Arthur replied, sounding a bit more stern than he intended. “Now come on. We need to leave.”

The boy clearly wasn’t convinced, but decided to drop it nonetheless. “...Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

Mounting up, Arthur and Isaac quickly hopped onto their horses before removing themselves from the area, eager to get the hell out of West Elizabeth with the money. Lord knew this state had already caused them more than a lifetime’s worth of problems, but with Edgar’s deal now sitting in the back of Arthur’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if leaving the state was the best course of action right now.

They only had three days to decide, after all. If they wandered too far from Blackwater, they wouldn’t be able to make it back if Arthur chose to accept his deal. Perhaps they could’ve lingered around Strawberry for a little while, but of course, there was the risk of running into Dutch if they did that.

Arthur just didn’t know what to do anymore. He thought sticking with Isaac would provide him a sense of clarity, but instead, all he found so far was a new list of issues to tackle.

There seemed to be conflict no matter where he went, and with his future now hanging by a thread, Arthur questioned if Isaac would be better off without him.

The only thing he knew for certain was that, unlike before, he now had a family worth fighting for. He had no idea where this road was going to take them, or if they’d even reach the end, but protecting Isaac was the only thing he cared about now.

And he’d be damned if he let those Pinkertons get their hands on him.


	11. The River

THAT NIGHT

SOUTH OF RIGGS STATION

Sitting underneath the cool night sky, Arthur and Isaac huddled together around a warm campfire that they built mere minutes ago, cooking a rabbit over its crackling flames.

At the moment, Isaac was wrapped up in a blanket and resting against a boulder, lazily watching the rabbit cook as he slowly rotated the spit. Meanwhile, Arthur leaned back against a tree and gazed upwards, taking in the millions of stars dusting the sky as they flickered sporadically.

It was close to midnight now, as far as Arthur could tell. The two of them traveled for several hours after leaving Blackwater, and decided to take a break once they crossed the Upper Montana River.

Fortunately, Arthur hadn’t seen any other signs of the Pinkertons following his encounter with Agent Ross, and the Van der Lindes appeared to be nowhere either.

Right now, it was just the two of them at this camp. The wilderness around them was quiet with emptiness, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the chirping of crickets, and the distant howling of coyotes.

Everything was peaceful.

Despite their calm state however, Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about the deal Agent Ross proposed to him earlier. For some reason, that man’s words embedded themselves in Arthur’s brain like a nail in wood, and the outlaw found himself preoccupied with about a thousand different questions. None of which he had the answers to.

Every fiber in his being doubted that Ross was being sincere with his offer, and Arthur knew better than to blindly throw his trust around, but as a father who cared about nothing more than the safety of his own child, he couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, there was some truth to Edgar’s deal.

Surely, Agent Fordham would protest if Ross went back on his word. That young man made his moral standing rather clear during the bank robbery in Blackwater, and a small part of Arthur hoped he’d be able to sway his superior’s mind the same way he did when Dutch took that woman hostage.

Maybe then, Isaac would have a chance at starting a normal life. This world of outlaws was the last thing Arthur wanted for his son, and if there was any chance he could prevent Isaac from going down the same road he did as a boy, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

He just hoped Isaac wouldn’t fight against it.

“...Dad?” The boy said softly, bringing Arthur back to reality. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” He replied, picking up on the young man’s serious tone. Isaac seemed to be in a much more solemn state than before, and just by listening to the kid’s voice, Arthur could tell something was wrong. 

He guessed he wasn’t the only one with a lot on his mind.

“...I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Isaac finally answered.

Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “Sorry? For what?”

“For everything I’ve done.” He explained. “I’ve... been thinkin’ about it for a while, and I’m just now realizing how much damage I’ve caused over these past couple o’ weeks. Especially to you and your gang. I wanted to kill Shay so badly that I was willing to risk those who did nothing wrong to me. I put you in danger. I killed Cleet. I took you away from Dutch. And now, because of everything I did, it’s possible he’ll want to take revenge on us. I’ve caused so many issue due to my own greed, and... I didn’t even take a moment to think about it. I didn’t care.”

Isaac lowered his head in shame, unable to look Arthur in the eye. “I shoulda listened to you back there. I’m sorry, Dad.”

Arthur had to admit, he was a tad surprised at the sudden confession. He knew Isaac was no killer deep inside, but he didn’t realize how much these past few days had actually affected him. 

It was rather clear Isaac had been thinking about this for quite some time. His eyes carried a heavy sense of melancholy within them, and the longer Arthur examined the disheartened expression on his face, the more he could see the kid’s mind tearing itself apart.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, Isaac.” Arthur replied sincerely. “I know the road’s been pretty bumpy lately, but it ain’t your fault. The truth is--” a short cough interrupted him, “--you... you actually helped me. Before we met, I used to spend my days thinkin’ about nothing except how all this was gonna end. Our gang was fallin’ apart, Dutch was dyin’ of his illness, and... well, there weren’t much I really cared for anymore.”

Isaac threw a confused look at him. “But... what about Dutch? I thought he was like a father to you.”

“He is,” Arthur corrected, “but no matter how close we was in the past, that man’s too dangerous to be around now. He’s like a stick of dynamite waitin’ to go off. That ain’t someone I want in my life. Or in yours. The reality is, you saved me from a heap of trouble I was always too stupid to put behind me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Isaac fell silent at the response, evidently surprised by Arthur’s sentiment. He expected the man to be a little more reserved about everything that was happening, but contrary to his belief, the outlaw actually seemed to be content with this new path they were taking, regardless of how chaotic it may’ve been. 

“That’s good to hear.” Isaac replied, sounding genuinely relieved. “I just keep wondering if I did the right thing, y’know. Killin’ Shay.”

Arthur let out a sigh, struggling to get his thoughts in order. “Revenge is always a messy business, I’m afraid. There’s never an easy answer. I suppose... it really comes down to whether you think the sacrifice is worth it or not.” He paused, glancing at Isaac. “...Do you?”

The young man shrugged, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Well... I met you in the process. So I’d say so.”

Arthur chuckled warmly at that. “So it would seem.” He leaned forward, putting a reassuring hand on Isaac’s knee. “Try not to think too much about it, kiddo. We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on.” He gestured to the campfire. “Oh, also, you’re burnin’ the rabbit.”

Isaac cursed in realization and rushed to remove the charred animal from the spit, earning a laugh from the other man. “Shit...!”

Arthur rose to his feet and stretched his arms out, letting out a yawn. “Welp, I’m gon’ get some shut-eye. I’m thinking we can start heading for Wallace Station tomorrow. Make our way up north. Possibly even try to reach Canada.”

“You wanna go that far?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe. It’s the only way we’ll ever get them Pinkertons off our tail for good. We’d be outta their reach if we crossed the border. But I ain’t never actually been there... so we’ll see.”

Arthur took a seat in his tent. “Anyway, we can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just focus on gettin’ some rest. These next few days are gonna be tough.”

Lying down on the ground, Arthur left Isaac to his own devices as the boy got in a last-minute meal, putting out the campfire now that he was done with it. The both of them were exhausted from traveling all day and constantly looking over their shoulders for Pinkertons, that the older man began to wonder if he should’ve asked John for help.

He didn’t know if Marston was still alive, or if he was even still in the country, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he missed that grumpy old bastard. He hadn’t seen him ever since the man fled Dutch’s gang eight years ago, and part of him wished that they could meet up again.

But... no. He couldn’t do that to John. That man had a possible wife and son to look out for now. The last thing he needed was Arthur bringing the law’s attention onto his doorstep, if it wasn’t already there. He got out of the Van der Lindes for a reason, and Arthur didn’t want to put his family at risk.

Arthur decided he would stay away from John for now. He and Isaac had been surviving well enough so far, and unless something disastrous were to occur, he thought it best if he left the man alone.

There was nothing more to be said between them, after all, and just like he told Isaac mere moments ago, there was no way he could change what happened in the past.

He could only move on from it.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

AN HOUR AFTER DAWN

Waking up to the smell of wet grass and freshly-poured rain, Arthur found himself lying in the middle of a crisp, chilly morning as a thick layer of fog spread across the land, obscuring everything in a fuzzy, white haze. 

He felt well rested -- or at least more rested than before -- and he couldn’t help but notice that this was the first night in a while where he didn’t suffer from some incessant nightmare. In fact, he couldn’t recall having any dreams at all.

Maybe that was a sign things were getting better.

Typically, Arthur would dream of those he had lost in the past. He’d see faces like Hosea, or Mary, or even Eliza, sometimes. They’d always talk to him as if they were still around, and Arthur would believe it. He’d have meaningful conversations with them in his head and laugh along with their jokes... only to wake up a few hours later and feel the cold sensation of reality sinking in once again.

He always wished he could go back to his dreams. They were far more comforting than the brutality of the real world, and usually, Arthur had nothing to look forward to upon waking up.

Now though, Arthur finally had something to care about outside of his dreams. He had the child he always wanted as a young man, and the chance to raise him right, despite their unusual situation.

He was going to do his best to be the father that Hosea was to him, and God willing, never become anything like Dutch. 

Lord knew Isaac deserved better than that.

Bringing himself to a sitting position, Arthur rolled his shoulders and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still feeling a bit groggy. Things were quiet this morning, apart from the neighing of the horses, and it looked like their camp had been left undisturbed by any unwanted company.

When Arthur got a better look at the tent across from him however, he suddenly realized that the sleeping bag was empty, and Isaac was nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to bolt out of his tent.

“Isaac?” He called out, searching the small camp. It looked like Aldo was still hitched to his post in the same spot Isaac left him, so Arthur assumed the man didn’t leave.

At least, not voluntarily.

“Isaac!” Arthur exclaimed again, starting to grow worried. He suddenly noticed a note lying on a stump next to his tent. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, hurriedly reading the scribbled text.

“We’re out of water. Went to the river to get some. Will be back soon.”

For a moment, the man was relieved at the news and let out a brief sigh, but instantly felt his fear spike once again when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot thundered somewhere in the distance.

Isaac was in trouble.

“Goddammit...!” Arthur cursed in panic, grabbing his guns before sprinting to his mount.

Throwing himself onto the Andalusian, the outlaw kicked his spurs into the horse’s sides and galloped in the direction of the gunshot, keeping his eyes peeled as he scanned the region for his son.

He didn’t hear anything else echoing through the fog at the moment, aside from a few muffled voices, but the weather made it so damned difficult to navigate through these fields, that Arthur almost had to rely on his hearing entirely.

Thankfully, he was somewhat familiar with the area and knew where the river was, leading him to make a direct beeline for the south. He only prayed Isaac was still there.

“Isaac!” Arthur shouted. “Goddammit, boy, where the hell are you...?!”

Whipping the reins even harder, Arthur practically soared across the land as he flicked his eyes around in trepidation, desperately searching for any sign of the young man.

He didn’t know where on Earth he was right now, and the only thing he could see was fog, but judging by the fact that he could make out the voices more clearly now, Arthur assumed he was getting closer. 

The outlaw hopped off his mount and decided to proceed on foot from there, not wanting to draw the attention of any enemies that could’ve been nearby.

“...Just tell me what I wanna know,” someone said from deep within the haze, “and this’ll all be over for you soon, princess. I promise.”

Arthur immediately recognized the conniving voice, causing his heart to pound in his chest. It was Micah. That meant Dutch had to be somewhere nearby.

“Lemme go, you sons-of-bitches...!” Isaac barked in a strained tone, clearly struggling against something.

Micah chuckled mockingly. “Afraid I can’t do that, cowboy. Not until you tell me where your pa is. I’m sure he and his sour face are sulkin’ around here somewhere.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” The young man reiterated. “I said I don’t know!”

“Oh, I heard you, alright, but I don’t believe you. There ain’t no way you coulda made it this far on your own. Not without a little help to push you along. You’s a clever little lad, I’ll give you that. But even you couldn’t survive out here. I know you’re travelin’ with the old man, so tell me where he is...” Arthur heard the click of a pistol’s hammer, “...or I’ll find him myself.”

Still, Isaac didn’t budge.

“...My father was right about you.” He said plainly. “You ain’t nothin’ but a snake, Micah. A boot-lickin’ coward who could never look a real man in the eye. You betrayed Dutch, and we both know it. He’ll have your head if he ever--”

Micah slammed his gun into Isaac’s temple.

“You watch your goddamn mouth, boy! You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” The man scoffed in amusement. “Seems to me like you’s just as delusional as your daddy. What a surprise.”

Micah glanced at Joe who was currently restraining Isaac with a gun to the head and signaled him to bring the kid back to camp, gesturing to their horses.

“Go on and bring Morgan junior here back to Dutch. I’m sure the boss is eager to have a word with him.”

“But what about Arthur?” Joe asked.

Micah waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll find the cranky old bastard some other time. Hell, if we’re lucky, he might even come to us. For now, let’s just see what we can get outta the boy.”

The other man sighed. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna--”

Startling all three of them, a bullet suddenly blasted its way into Joe’s skull and sent him collapsing into the river with a large splash, giving Isaac the opening he needed.

Unwrapping Joe’s arms from his neck, Isaac instantly broke free from his grasp and yanked out his hunting knife, cutting a deep gash into Micah’s left eye before tackling the man to the ground.

“You goddamned miserable wretch!” Micah hissed, blocking Isaac’s attacks. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Shoving the young man’s meager weight off of him, Micah headbutted Isaac and turned the tide of the fight, rolling around so that the other man was underneath him.

Before the boy even had a chance to react, Micah pressed his hands around Isaac’s throat and strangled him as best he could, shaking his grip with the amount of strength he was putting into it.

“You dunno how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this, cowpoke...!” Micah growled. “I shoulda killed you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Pointlessly gasping for air, Isaac writhed in Micah’s iron hold and desperately tried to pry his arms off with a few punches to the face, but to no avail. The man only continued to squeeze Isaac’s neck and chuckled sadistically, reveling in the morbid sight beneath him.

Just as he was about to finish the boy off however, a third party suddenly barged into the scene, forcing Micah to bring his attention elsewhere.

“Get the hell off of him, you son-of-a-bitch!” Arthur roared, grabbing Micah by the shoulders before hurling him to the ground.

Isaac let out a deep gasp upon being released and hungrily drank the air around him, coughing violently as he tried to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Arthur pinned Micah to the dirt and slammed his knuckles into the man’s nose, practically burying his fist in his face.

“And there he is...!” Micah said with a bloody smile. “I knew you’d come crawlin’ outta your hole sooner or later.”

“You shut your mouth, Micah!” Arthur threatened through clenched teeth. “I’m sick of listenin’ to all your bluster!”

The other man laughed. “You don’t like what I have to say ‘cause you know it’s the truth...! You’re old news, Morgan. The gang’s got a new order. Dutch is finished with you, and he’s gonna nail you to a cross when he finds you.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna be any kinder to you,” Arthur countered. “You know what loyalty means to that man. If Dutch is gonna damn me for what I’ve done, then so be it. But you best believe you’re goin’ straight to Hell with me.”

Micah chuckled. “Then I hope the trip is worth it.”

Throwing a series of punches, Arthur continued to beat Micah to a pulp and stained the river’s water red with his blood, fully intending on killing the man until the ominous sound of someone cocking their gun reached his ears.

Arthur came to a halt and looked over his shoulder, spotting none other than Bill Williamson himself standing in the distance.

He paused, waiting for the man to say something.

“Williamson...” he warned, his voice dangerously rough, “if you’re gonna use that gun, you better make sure I’m goddamn dead.”

The other outlaw hesitated, loosely aiming his rifle at Arthur’s head.

“Arthur, I--”

Just as he lifted his weapon however, Isaac whipped out his own, causing the four of them to come to a stalemate.

“Christ, Arthur...” Bill muttered in frustration. “You always was a pain to deal with.”

Isaac pulled the hammer down. “Yeah, well you better get the hell outta here now, or I’ll blow Micah’s brains out myself.”

“I... I can’t just return to Dutch empty-handed!” Bill exclaimed, glancing back and forth between Arthur and Isaac. “You know that man. How d’you think he’s gonna react when I come back with nothin’ but Joe’s corpse and a beaten-to-hell Micah?”

Arthur kept his grip on Micah’s collar, glaring Bill directly in the eye.

“...I don’t care.” He said slowly. 

The other man glowered at that. “No. I guess you never did.”

Not wanting to escalate things any further, Arthur finally decided enough was enough and threw Micah’s unconscious body to the ground, admittedly somewhat ashamed of losing himself like that in front of Isaac.

The last thing he wanted was for Isaac to see the side of him that Dutch created all those years ago, but the boy was safe for the moment, and that was all he cared about.

He just hoped the kid wouldn’t be afraid of him after this.

“Bill,” Arthur said as the outlaw began dragging Micah away, “when you get back to camp, you tell Dutch to leave us the hell alone. Otherwise, none of you will be walkin’ away next time.”

“Sure, Arthur.” Bill replied flatly, sounding a little hurt. “Whatever you say.”

Watching the two of them disappear into the fog, Arthur and Isaac stayed back as Joe’s body began floating downstream with the river’s current, bumping into the numerous rocks protruding from the water along the way.

It didn’t look like Dutch was with them at the time being, so Arthur figured it would be safe for now, but that didn’t mean he was letting his guard down anytime soon. 

Within just a couple of days, they had already run into both the Pinkertons and the Van der Lindes, exactly like Arthur feared.

They’d have to be even more discreet from here on out, and that was what brought Arthur to his next move.

He turned to Isaac, shaking his head at the young man.

“What the hell was you thinking?” Arthur scolded fiercely. “Runnin’ off on your own like that, not even botherin’ to wake me up.”

Isaac rubbed his neck in pain, still recovering from Micah’s attack.

“We were outta water, like I said. I just came to collect more.”

“Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process! You shoulda told me where you was going, or brought me along with you! What if--” Arthur was interrupted by a series of coughs, forcing him to calm down.

“...What if,” he continued, his tone much softer now, “I didn’t find you in time? How d’you think that would’ve gone?”

The young man sighed, drained of all his energy. “I... I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

Arthur let out a deep exhale, deciding to let it go for now.

“Well... just stay close to me from here on out. We got Pinkertons and Dutch’s gang hunting us down. I can’t afford to lose sight of you. Understand?”

Isaac nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Then let’s get the hell outta here. Before anyone else shows up.”

Placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, Arthur quickly guided the boy back to his horse and away from the brutal scene, not wanting to stick around for a minute longer. A part of him felt somewhat bad for shouting at Isaac like that, especially after the kid just survived an ambush, but he couldn’t deny that he had been terrified for a minute there.

What if Isaac had been dead when he found him? What if he was too late? This encounter with Dutch’s men only made Arthur realize just how much danger they were truly in.

They had to get up north to the mountains in Ambarino, and fast. No one would dare follow them into those snowstorms -- well, no one except for Dutch -- and Arthur was willing to bet they’d be safer away from civilization.

He only wondered how much time they had before someone else cornered them.

“Dad?” Isaac said, looking at Arthur with concern. “Are you... doin’ okay? You’ve been coughin’ quite a bit lately.”

Arthur paused at the realization, suddenly aware of his newfound symptoms. With everything that was going on recently, he hadn’t even noticed how much more he had been coughing in the past few days, and he dreaded to think about what it could’ve meant.

After all, he had seen how Dutch was doing with his own illness, and it wasn’t as if Arthur had exactly been keeping his distance from the man. If he was starting to develop the same thing...

...well, that wasn’t something he even wanted to think about right now.

“I’m... fine, Isaac.” He brushed off, albeit not confidently. “Ain’t nothin’ to raise a fuss over.”

The boy wasn’t entirely reassured. “If you say so. Just... keep an eye on it, alright?”

Arthur climbed onto his horse and got comfortable in the saddle, waiting for Isaac to join him as the fog finally started to clear up.

“Don’t you worry. I will.”


	12. Regret

THAT EVENING

NEAR OWANJILA LAKE

“What do you mean Joe’s dead?” Dutch asked, his tone sounding more feral with every word.

“I mean Arthur killed him!” Bill reiterated. “Shot him right in the face when no one was looking.”

The other man glanced at Micah, watching as the man rested on a nearby bedroll.

“And Micah?” He asked.

“Isaac attacked him as soon as Joe was shot.” Bill explained. “Cut him straight through the eye. Micah nearly killed the boy after that. Almost drowned him in the river, but Arthur managed to pull him off. Gave him one hell of a beating. Then, he sent me back here.”

Dutch looked at him with bewilderment. “And you just left?”

Bill threw his hands in the air. “Well, what else was I supposed to do, Dutch? You know Arthur. That man’s a beast. You raised him, after all. As for his son, let’s just say the apple don’t fall far from the tree. He ain’t nearly as strong as his pa, but he’s goddamn crazy. I’d have been killed if I stuck around.”

Dutch sighed in frustration and turned away from Bill, annoyed at the dead-end he suddenly found himself facing.

He knew Arthur wouldn’t be easy to take down -- that was no surprise -- but the fact that he killed one of his men and nearly beat another to death sent Dutch into a state of panic.

If Micah, Bill, and Joe couldn’t bring Arthur back by themselves, what the hell were they supposed to do now? Their gang was short one man, and Micah was in no condition to be going after anybody at the moment.

Dutch would have to find Arthur himself. He may have been sick, and he may have been dying, but he knew that man better than any of these fools. He knew how Arthur thought.

It was going to take more work than he initially anticipated to bring that man down, but Dutch was sure he could do it.

He just needed more time.

“So?” Bill questioned. “Where do we go from here, Dutch?”

Dutch brought his focus back to Williamson, his cold eyes seemingly gazing straight through him.

“We wait. Now that the three of you have alerted Arthur, he and the boy are gonna have their guard up. So we’ll give ‘em some space to breathe for now. Let them think that we ain’t a threat no more. In the meantime, we’ll allow Micah to recover from his wounds, and think of a plan. We’re gonna need it. Men like Arthur don’t just give up.”

Bill offered no objections. “Yeah, well... neither do you, Dutch.”

The man nodded at that, patting Bill on the shoulder. “You’re goddamn right about that, son. I ain’t givin’ up anytime soon. And Arthur’s gonna learn what it means to betray our family. I just need you and Micah to be with me, and I need no more mistakes. Are we clear on that, Williamson?”

Bill was clearly still hesitant to go against someone like Arthur, but complied nonetheless.

“We’re clear, Dutch.”

“Good. Then if you’ll excuse me...” Dutch began strolling away, “...I have got some thinking to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

DAKOTA RIVER, NORTH OF DIABLO RIDGE

Trudging along the rocky path, Arthur and Isaac rode side-by-side as they followed the current of the river, slowly making their way up to the Grizzlies West.

By now, the sky had transformed into a soft shade of purple and was highlighted with wispy streaks of orange clouds, painting a beautiful contrast above them.

There were no other silhouettes dotting the dark horizon or distant gunshots to fill the air, and so far, everything had gone smoothly ever since their violent encounter with the Van der Linde gang.

Unfortunately though, they still had one other problem to deal with.

And this one wasn’t so easily ignored.

Throwing a silent glance at his father, Isaac felt a tight sense of worry clutching his chest as he watched the man let out another chain of coughs, his breath growing more ragged with every outburst.

Arthur kept insisting that he was fine for the moment and showed no signs of deviating from their plan to head up north, but Isaac wasn’t sure that wandering into the cold was the best idea right now.

Every fiber in his being hated to admit it, but Isaac knew his father was dying. He recalled Micah mentioning something about Dutch being sick not too long ago, and Arthur’s symptoms didn’t seem that different from the old man’s.

Isaac really had no idea where else he could’ve gotten it from or what the illness could’ve been, but one thing was clear to the boy. 

Sooner or later... he was going to lose Arthur. 

The outlaw was going to disappear from his life faster than he jumped back into it, and it made Isaac want to scream at the world for taking yet another one of his parents.

He had just started the process of finally moving on from Eliza’s death, and now, it was as if things had been reset.

Isaac was witnessing the death of his father now -- same as before -- only this time, it was going to be far more painful, and far more drawn out.

Why was the world doing this to him?

“...It ain’t polite to stare, boy.” Arthur remarked gruffly, causing Isaac to avert his eyes.

“...Sorry.” He replied, his tone firm with anger. “I just... well, never mind.”

The kid didn’t even have to explain what was on his mind. Arthur could already tell.

“Don’t you go givin’ up on me yet, Isaac.” He reminded. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere anytime soon. It’ll take more than a cough to scare me away.”

Isaac gazed at the lively river beside them, his eyes downcast in sorrow.

“I know you’re tough, Dad. You made that pretty clear when you beat Micah to a pulp...” the boy rubbed his neck in remembrance. “But will that be enough?”

Arthur sighed, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer. “It’ll have to be.”

Falling into an uncomfortable silence, the two of them decided to leave the matter alone for now and trotted quietly down the road as the sky continued to darken above them, instilling a sense of fatigue in them.

Before either of them could go nodding off however, Arthur suddenly felt the need to bring up another topic that had been bothering him and turned to Isaac, hoping to comfort the boy somewhat.

“Hey, Isaac,” he called out, “about what happened earlier with Micah...”

The young man raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Arthur’s face sank with regret. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I know we was in a tough spot back there, and we didn’t really have much choice, but still... I shouldn’t have lost myself like that. Not in front of you. That ain’t the kinda man I want you to be.”

Isaac didn’t appear to share the man’s remorse. “Bastard had it comin’ to him. He betrayed your gang and nearly strangled me right after interrogating me. S’far as I’m concerned, Micah’s lucky he only got away with a wounded eye after all the shit he’s pulled.”

“Isaac!” Arthur scolded. “Look, I know that man’s rotten to the core. He’s always been a rat since he first joined our gang, but we’re better than that. You’re better than that.”

The boy scoffed. “Am I? I’ve robbed people. Killed ‘em. I poisoned an innocent man just so I could get revenge on some sorry fool who had already forgotten me by the time I found him again. From where I’m standing, I’m no more of a saint than any of the people we’ve fought.”

“Now you know that ain’t true.” Arthur replied. “We’ve all done bad things. Myself included. But you’ve got a kind heart, Isaac. That much is clear.”

Contrary to what the older man expected, that only seemed to annoy Isaac more.

“What good is a kind heart if it just gets everyone around you killed in the end? Micah may be rotten, but at least he knows how to survive. He knows it ain’t worth it tryin’ to get close with people. I wish I knew better.”

The other man blinked in confusion. “What’re you talkin’ about? Survival’s fine and dandy, but there’s more to it, Isaac. You gotta have a reason to survive. And if you don’t have anyone to care about, well then, frankly I don’t see a reason.”

Isaac scowled at that. “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”

Arthur found himself at a loss for words. “What’s gotten into you? One minute you’re askin’ me if we should kill Micah for everything he’s done, and the next, you’re sayin’ you wish you were more like him? That ain’t like you.”

Isaac shook his head in irritation. “How would you even know what ‘I ain’t like?’ We were practically strangers when I was a kid. You was always runnin’ off with some gang, or doing a job that was more important than us. You don’t know the first thing about me. I’ve had horses in my life longer than I’ve had you.”

The older man stopped in his tracks at that and lowered his voice, glaring directly at Isaac.

“...Watch your mouth, boy.” He warned sternly. “Now listen, I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on with you today, Isaac, but you better shape up. I know we’re both still stressed from the fight this morning, but we are tryin’ to survive out here, and the last thing I need is for you to be pushin’ against me like this. So get your head straight or I’ll straighten it for you. You hear me?”

Isaac hardly seemed fazed by Arthur’s words and simply tapped his horse’s reins, walking ahead of the other man.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Watching Isaac solemnly trot further down the trail, Arthur decided to put some space between them for now and followed the young man from behind, confused as to why he was acting like this all of the sudden.

It was obvious Isaac was upset about something, but what? He seemed perfectly fine this morning, even after their fight with the Van der Lindes, and Arthur knew it took more than a beating to get Isaac’s spirits down. So what was going on with him?

Perhaps all the memories of his childhood were just starting to come back? Because as annoyed as Arthur was with the boy right now, he couldn’t deny that Isaac had a point. 

He was hardly ever around when that man was still a child. He made an effort to be near him every few months or so, but Isaac never had a reliable father figure growing up. Hell, the closest thing to a father he had back then was Shay... and he hated him.

Maybe Isaac still hadn’t quite forgiven Arthur for being absent all those years. He could act tough all he wanted, but the older man knew how much that boy really cared about his family. So it was no surprise to him that Isaac would be standoffish about losing him. Arthur just didn’t understand why these feelings were coming up now.

He supposed Isaac would tell him when he was ready. If that kid was anything like his father, then Arthur assumed he wouldn’t appreciate being pushed to open up about certain things.

Still, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried. This was the only chance he had to do right by his son, and so far, it seemed like everything was going wrong.

He just hoped he wasn’t pushing the kid away. Being a father was turning out to be much more daunting than he expected, and the last thing Arthur wanted to do was guide his son down the same path that he took.

Isaac had the potential to be more than that. He just couldn’t see it.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

WEST OF WALLACE STATION

Sitting on a short stump, Arthur gazed out at the sea of trees dominating the horizon as a bundle of stars began to light up above them, giving the sky a soft, pale glow.

At the moment, he was drawing in a new journal that he had purchased at Wallace Station and was working on a sketch of the landscape, hoping to escape his worries for the time being.

Meanwhile, Isaac got some rest next to the campfire and slept on a bedroll, allowing his incessant dreams to carry him away as Aldo stood protectively nearby.

The two of them hadn’t said a word to each other ever since their little spat earlier, and were taking some time apart from one another. The boy appeared to be just as irritated as before, and Arthur -- being the inquisitive man that he was -- couldn’t stop wondering what it was that he did to make Isaac so upset.

He let out a sigh and began scribbling some words next to his drawing, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Oh, Hosea... I certainly wish you was here right now. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days. You remember Eliza? That waitress I used to be with all them years ago? Well, I found our son again. I found Isaac. Turns out he’s still alive, and he seems to be doing okay, if a bit troubled. I think you’d like him.”

“Problem is, I don’t know the first thing about being a parent. That’s why I wish you was still around. You and Dutch -- the two of you always seemed to know what to do with me. It felt like you always had the answers.”

“But me... it seems like with every attempt I make to protect the boy, the worse things get. We got Pinkertons chasing us down, the Van der Lindes trying to kill us around every corner, and I’ve started to develop this cough that won’t go away. I think I’m getting sick, just like Dutch.”

Arthur set his pencil down and dragged a hand down his face, taking a breath before continuing to write.

“What the hell am I going to do? I love Isaac more than life itself, but... things are getting heated between us. I think the boy’s angry at me. He’s started pushing me away all of the sudden, and the worst part is, I can’t even say he’s fully unjustified. I know I didn’t do right by him as a kid. I was always too occupied with our gang that I left Isaac alone. I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

“But I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. Even if Isaac comes out of this hating me, I still want to be the father he deserves. I want to be the father that you were to me, Hosea.”

“I just wish I knew where to begin.”

Shutting his journal closed, Arthur decided to call it a day and stood up from the stump, rolling his shoulders as he strolled back to the campfire.

It looked like Isaac was out cold for the night and didn’t even twitch when Arthur stepped near him, but even then, the older man could see the grip of a revolver poking out from underneath his hand.

Part of him wanted to wake the young man up and set things straight between them, but Arthur knew he’d probably just end up aggravating Isaac even more if he did that.

So, instead, he simply made his way over to his own bedroll and tried to get some shut-eye, preparing himself for the long road ahead.

Tomorrow would be the start of the toughest part of their journey, and if things went according to schedule, Arthur expected they’d be wandering into the colder regions of Ambarino before long.

He wasn’t eager to go back into the snowy mountains that killed Jenny and Davy, but if they could cross the border, then they’d finally be free men.

The goal of their journey was drawing near, and now more than ever, Arthur was fervent in protecting Isaac. He may not’ve had much time left in this world, but he was going to see to it that the boy made it out okay.

If anything happened to Isaac, well... Arthur didn’t know what he’d do.

That kid was everything to him now, and he suspected he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he lost him a second time.

He’d never forgive himself, and neither would Eliza.


	13. Family Don't Turn Their Back On You

THE NEXT MORNING

PINKERTON HQ, BLACKWATER

Gazing out a nearby window, Agent Fordham casually watched the streets of Blackwater as men and women paced around all over the place, traveling from one end of the city to another.

Business carried on as usual in the small town, and despite the damage Dutch’s men caused to the bank during the robbery, everything else seemed to functioning just fine.

The only thing that was missing from the bustling sight... was Arthur Morgan himself.

It had only been a couple of days since Agent Ross proposed his deal to that man, but they had yet to see any sign of the outlaw ever since then. The other Pinkertons patrolling The Great Plains reported no visuals of Mr. Morgan in the area, and his son was apparently nowhere to be found either.

Fordham liked to believe that they were still considering the decision and would show up at their headquarters eventually, but the pessimistic side of him knew better.

Arthur had no reason to trust the Pinkertons. Milton didn’t exactly make the best impression on Dutch all those years ago, so Fordham supposed it only made sense that Arthur would put as much distance between himself and Blackwater as possible... but he had hoped that the man would give Isaac a chance by turning himself in.

That boy was hardly a man yet, and he had already been thrown into the unforgiving world of outlaws. If there was any way to avoid killing him needlessly, Fordham was willing to take it.

Unfortunately, he doubted Ross felt the same.

“You think Mr. Morgan will accept our deal?” Fordham asked Edgar, glancing away from the window.

Ross leaned back in his desk’s chair and stuck a pipe between his lips, speaking through clenched teeth while he held the object in place.

“Unlikely,” he replied, bringing a flame to the pipe’s tip. “That man’s about as stubborn as Dutch van der Linde himself. Trust me, I’ve known him for many years now. It was pointless to attempt a deal with him. We should’ve arrested him and his son when we had the chance.”

Fordham hesitated, trying to remain as professional as possible. “But... don’t you think it’s worth a try? Saving his son, I mean. If Arthur accepts our deal, Isaac will perhaps have a chance to live like civilized folk. And carry on with his future.”

Edgar blew out a puff of smoke, exhaling deeply as he extinguished the match with a quick wave.

“Our focus is to protect law-abiding citizens, Archer.” He said in a bored tone. “When it comes to criminals or savages, we do not concern ourselves with their personal lives or well-being. All that matters is bringing them to justice. Of course, how we handle the situation depends on how they behave, but ultimately -- their future is not our concern. Their end is.”

Archer was reluctant to agree. “I understand, but in the end, criminals are still humans. Not all of them break the law for the same reason. In some cases, it’s greed. In others, power. But in Isaac’s case, it’s survival. You’ve read the files. He was forced into this life with no way out. Wouldn’t you say that someone at his age deserves to make a real life for himself?”

Still, Edgar’s mind remained unswayed. “It is not my place to decide, Archer. Nor is it yours. I’m only going along with your deal for now because I want to help you. But in the end, the final decision resides with the judge. If Arthur and Isaac put themselves in a position where they must be killed, then the only thing we need to worry about is pulling the trigger fast enough. Though, of course, obtaining them alive would be ideal.”

Fordham turned back to the window, trying to conceal the begrudging expression on his face.

“...I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Edgar said simply, standing up from the chair. “Then I trust that the next time we see Arthur or his son, you will not hesitate to bring them in?”

Archer shook his head staunchly. “No, sir. Of course not.”

The other agent nodded in approval. “Good. We have far too many issues to worry about already when it comes to the savages of this country. The last thing we need is complications within civilization itself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Agent Fordham...”

Ross grabbed his coat and headed for the office’s door, leaving Archer to his own devices.

“...I’ve got something to attend to.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THE GENERAL STORE, VALENTINE

Handing money over to the shopkeeper, Arthur stuffed some of the new provisions he’d just purchased into his satchel and began making his way for the shop’s exit, throwing a quick wave behind him before he took his leave.

“Thanks, mister.”

The shopkeeper gave him a polite nod. “Y’have a good day now, sir.”

Pushing the door open, Arthur stepped back outside into the muddy streets of Valentine as a chain of horses and wagons lazily rolled past him, their drivers still in the process of waking up.

It was chilly this morning, or at least chillier than the one before, and thanks to the bleak clouds veiling the sky, the sun was barely able to break through.

Arthur didn’t much like being this close to civilization, but he figured it’d be a good idea to grab some more food and winter clothing before heading up to Ambarino.

He sure hadn’t forgotten how cold it was in that region, and part of him wished they would never have to return there, but if there was any place in this country that would prevent the Pinkertons from tracking them, Arthur was willing to bet it’d be in the mountains.

The only thing that really worried him now, was Dutch. That man may not have been strong enough to survive the snow, but he was definitely crazy enough to try.

And that alone was enough to frighten Arthur.

“Hey, mister!” A voice suddenly called out, leading the man to glance to his side. “Over here!”

Standing next to the building, Arthur spotted an elderly man occupying the alleyway between the general goods store and the saloon, and it looked like his eyes were pinned on him at the moment. His hair was frazzled, his face was covered in dirt, and his ragged shirt almost resembled an old Union uniform.

As for his sleeves, one of them had been folded in half due to the amputated limb, and...

Wait a second.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in recognition.

“...Mickey? Is that you?”

The older man’s eyes twinkled upon hearing his name. “So you do remember me! Oh, I certainly remember you, mister. Your name’s Arthur, isn’t it? Like the king.”

Arthur nodded. “Yep.”

Mickey smiled warmly. “Oh, well... it’s good to see you again, friend. You was always kind to me. I remember. Everyone else in this town ignored me -- and they still do -- but you was always willing to lend an ear. I never forgot you.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, mister. I spoke with your son, y’know.”

That caught the outlaw’s attention. “You met Isaac?”

“Yeah,” the veteran replied. “I thought he was you. He looks just like you did, all them years ago. Though, he’s a bit angrier, I think. Not as nice as you was.”

Arthur sighed apologetically. “...Sorry ‘bout that. The boy’s been... goin’ through some things lately.”

Surprisingly, Mickey didn’t seem offended. “Oh no, it’s fine, mister. Your son might be angry, but I’ve seen that type of anger before. In the war, men would always get angry when they was hurt. They would end up hurting others. I think Isaac’s the same. He looks... sad. Just like you.”

The outlaw didn’t entirely know what to make of that. “Does he.”

“Yeah. I asked him why, but he didn’t say much. Just told me that you was dying.”

Arthur shook his head. “I already told him, I ain’t--” a short cough interrupted him. “--I ain’t... dying.”

Mickey gazed at him with concern. “You sure, buddy? Your boy’s right. You don’t look so good.”

The other man cleared his throat. “Well... I dunno. But I ain’t dead yet, and that’s all that matters.”

“But you will die.”

Arthur shrugged despondently. “Everyone dies.”

“Sure,” Mickey agreed, “but it still hurts. No one likes losing things. Things that they love. And your son, well... he don’t wanna lose you. Especially since he already lost his ma.”

Arthur cocked a brow at him. “You know about her?”

“The boy only told me a bit, but he said she died when he was real little. He couldn’t save her. And now, you’re dying, too. And he can’t save you either.”

The outlaw let out a breath. “But why take his anger out on me? Or you? It ain’t like I asked for this.”

“I don’t know.” Micky answered truthfully. “But I think you should talk with your son. I always feel better when I talk to people. Maybe you will, too.”

Arthur thought about it for a moment, eventually agreeing with the man.

“Yeah... I think he and I need to have a few words.”

The veteran seemed pleased with that. “Well, I wish you luck.” 

“D’you know where he is?”

Mickey pointed to the saloon. “Yeah, I saw him head behind the saloon. He’s havin’ a drink there, I think.”

Arthur followed the man’s gaze. “What, at this hour?” He let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll go find him.”

The veteran said one last thing to Arthur, stopping the outlaw in his tracks just before he could leave.

“Hey, mister! Could you spare a dollar?”

Arthur nodded, reaching into his satchel. “Sure.” 

Mickey gave him an appreciative look. “Thanks, friend. You take care of yourself now. We need more folks like you around here.”

The outlaw laughed at that, waving goodbye. “Oh, I ain’t too sure about that.”

Strolling away from the homeless veteran, Arthur wandered down the narrow alleyway and to the back of the saloon, right next to where the barber’s door was. 

Sure enough, he found Isaac sitting on a barrel with a beer bottle in his hand, and it looked like Aldo was standing quietly beside him.

The young man didn’t look so good at the moment. His head was lowered in sorrow, and his shoulders slouched in discouragement. His eyes seemed to be glued on the ground in front of him, and if he noticed Arthur’s presence, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Something was definitely wrong. Arthur just wished the man would tell him what.

“Isaac?” He called out, walking up to him. “Whatcha doin’ out here?”

The boy remained seated, not even bothering to shift his gaze. “Just wanted to get away from everyone.”

Arthur glanced through the saloon’s windows, raising a brow at the incredible lack of customers.

“...There’s three people in there, Isaac. Bartender and barber included.”

Isaac sighed in annoyance. “Look, I just needed to be alone, okay?”

The outlaw chuckled softly, though not in a mocking manner. He stepped next to the young man and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a casual fashion.

“Listen, son... I spoke to Mickey.”

Isaac lifted his head in confusion. “...Who?”

“The homeless Union vet.” He explained.

“Oh, is that his name? Yeah, I spoke with him, too.”

“So I’ve been told.” Arthur fell silent for a second, taking on a more serious tone. “...He says you think I’m dying.”

Isaac took a swig of his drink. “I ain’t a child no more, Dad. I don’t think you’re dying. I know you are. That much is obvious.”

Arthur felt another series of coughs tickling his throat, but did his best to hold it back for now.

“Well, even if that’s true, I ain’t dead yet, Isaac. I’m still here. So let’s save the eulogies for when I’m actually gone.”

“...You say that like it’s so easy.”

Isaac finished the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with some force, clearly upset.

“Don’t you get it? Apart from mom, you’re the only person I’ve had in my life that I could actually trust. After she died, everyone else I met always wanted to kill me, or use me in some way. Even Shay. He never raised me for my sake. He only did it so he’d have another gun to order around. I guess...” he trailed off for a second, his voice becoming much softer, “...I guess I just got used to being alone. It was the only choice I had. There was no one else I could depend on.”

He turned to look at Arthur. “Now that I’ve met you though, I can do it again. And... it feels good, y’know. To be able to trust someone. To have someone that... you love.”

Isaac returned to his irritated nature, hopping off the barrel. “But now you’re sick. And dying. And I’m gonna be left alone. Again.”

The boy began to walk off, causing Arthur to pace after him.

“I understand that, Isaac, but it ain’t like I chose this. You think I wanted to get sick?”

Isaac rested a hand on Aldo’s saddle, letting out a deep sigh. 

“No. I... I don’t. I know you didn’t. I’m just...” he took a breath, struggling to get the right words out, “...I wish things was different, alright? I wish I could help you. I wish... you were okay.”

Arthur put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, trying to reassure the boy.

“I know, kiddo. I do, too. But the truth is... we can’t always control life. Sometimes, life kicks us in the ass and expects us to cope whether we’re ready for it or not. And we can’t control it when that happens. But what we can control, is how we deal with it.”

Arthur stepped closer to Isaac, looking him in the eye. “Listen, it’s clear to both of us that I ain’t got much time left in this world. Whether that means I have three months or three years, I don’t know. But I ain’t gonna be around forever. Unlike what happened with Eliza though, we’re prepared this time. We have the luxury of knowin’ what to expect. So we can kick and scream at the world for being unfair, or we can make use of the time we have left together.”

He paused, glancing down at the ground. “This is the only chance we’ll get to make things right, Isaac. Let’s not waste it.”

Taking in everything Arthur just said, Isaac responded with nothing but a profound silence and gazed blankly at the distant horizon, his eyes carrying a heavy sense of exhaustion within them.

It was difficult for Arthur, watching his son go through this. No parent alive wanted to tell their own child that they were dying, but Arthur learned long ago that it was impossible to live a bad life and expect good things to happen. 

He wished he could be there to see Isaac grow into an old man or start a family of his own, but this was the reality they had to deal with.

Arthur’s sins were finally catching up to him, and Isaac was going to pay the price.

“...Hey, Dad.” The young man said, getting his father’s attention.

Arthur threw him a curious look. “Yeah?”

Isaac’s brow furrowed in guilt. “I’m... sorry for what I said yesterday. I know I was pretty harsh.”

The older man wasn’t too bothered by it. If anything, part of him felt bad for snapping at the kid after he expressed his frustration.

“Harsh? Yes. Wrong? Well, not entirely.”

Isaac looked down in shame. “No, I was wrong. You may not’ve been there much when I was a kid, but I know you wanted to be. The truth is... I didn’t mean a goddamn word of what I said. I don’t wanna be anything like Micah. Or Dutch. Or Shay. I wanna be like you.”

Arthur shook his head in disagreement. 

“No, Isaac. You don’t. When this is all over... you’re gonna be your own man. A better man.”

The boy seemed lost. “But how am I gonna do that?”

Arthur smirked warmly. “Well, that’s the beauty of it. It’s entirely up to you.”

Leaving Isaac to his thoughts, the older man patted him on the shoulder and beckoned the kid to follow him into the street, eager to get a head start on their journey to Ambarino.

Despite being somewhat conflicted about their future, Arthur suspected the young man felt slightly better now. He still carried that same gloomy look in his eye as before, but his demeanor didn’t appear as solemn anymore.

He seemed... different. Hopeful. A little sad perhaps, but unwilling to give up. 

There was a newfound sense of determination in his step, and even though Arthur could clearly see that Isaac was still hurting over his father’s illness, he knew that the young man would pull through. 

He was strong. Much stronger than he realized. Arthur just wished Isaac would put that strength to good use.

He seemed to have a habit of getting lost in the past. Everything he did revolved around his desire for revenge, and Arthur could only hope that once his time came, Isaac wouldn’t live the rest of his life trying to avenge his death.

There was so much more in the world that he could experience. So much for him to do. 

Arthur’s only wish now, was that he’d be able to make Isaac see that.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER

THE VAN DER LINDE CAMP

“...Goddamn. You are one, ugly bastard.” Bill murmured, observing the fresh wounds on Micah’s face. The man had just woken up from his beating and was currently sitting under a makeshift tent, attempting to get a better look at his injuries.

“Well, I wouldn’t be if you’d have gotten to me sooner. Where the hell was you when Joe and I was doin’ all the work?”

Bill defended himself. “Hey, I was keepin’ a lookout! Just like you fellas told me to. Don’t act like I wasn’t doin’ my job.”

Micah chuckled sarcastically, glowering at the other man. “Well, you wasn’t. Couldn’t even see Arthur ridin’ towards us at full speed. You only came runnin’ after Joe was shot. I dunno if you’re aware of this, Marion, but the whole point of a goddamn lookout is to make sure that doesn’t happen!”

Bill lurched forward out of anger. “Hey, don’t call me that!”

The one-eyed man didn’t back down. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer ‘moron?’ It’d be more fitting, anyhow.”

Bill pointed a finger at Micah, only to end up clenching it into a fist as he grumbled to himself in frustration.

“You... you don’t...” he waved a dismissive hand, walking away from the man. “Y’know what, forget it. Dutch can look after your goddamn wounds himself.”

Micah laughed, taunting Bill as he stormed off in the opposite direction. “Yeah, sure. Drink yourself into a stupor, why don’t you? Leave the real work to the big boys. Heheh.”

The other man shook his head in anger. “You’re a fool, Micah! A goddamn fool!”

Watching Bill retreat to the opposite end of the camp, Micah relaxed into his bedroll again and chortled lowly to himself, amused at Williamson’s annoyance.

He didn’t know how on Earth that man was still alive, considering how easily he got riled up. Most folks with a temper like that got shot at one point or another, and yet, Bill was still here. Keeping Dutch company even after Arthur, John, and Hosea were all gone.

Who would’ve thought?

Dragging himself over to the small, circular mirror by his tent, Micah slipped off the final bandage around his head and unveiled the nasty gash underneath, revealing a permanently closed eye.

Thanks to the laceration Isaac gave him the previous day, his top eyelid had been sealed shut, and a diagonal scar now carved its way through his brow.

Micah’s vision had been cut in half, and yet, the man only found himself feeling twice as eager to put Morgan’s brat into the ground.

Who the hell did that little boy think he was? Attacking their gang and killing off their members, and then trying to run away from it? No one just... attacked the Van der Linde gang and lived. 

Micah had half a mind to give Isaac the same treatment Arthur gave him down at the river. That kid stole their money, ruined their supplies, and caused their gang to shrink to just three men. Two of which were utter fools.

The only problem he had now was actually finding the boy. Lord only knew how far he and Arthur had traveled by this point, and judging by the lack of updates from Dutch, Micah assumed their almighty leader wasn’t having any more luck with tracking Arthur down himself.

He’d have to think of an alternate method. A quicker method. 

But most importantly, he’d need help.

“Micah!” Dutch called from behind, his reflection growing in the mirror as he approached the small tent. “You’re awake.”

“Hey, boss.” Micah greeted, turning to face Dutch. The other man paused upon seeing his new scar.

“...Arthur surely did a number on your eye, didn’t he?”

“It was Isaac who did it,” he corrected. “That boy’s young and stupid, but he knows how to use a knife.”

Dutch sighed worriedly. “Oh, he knows how to do much more than that, I’m afraid.” A strong cough escaped him, causing him to spit on the grass before wiping his mouth. “I spoke with Bill. He says Arthur killed Joe.”

“Yeah. His body flowed downstream.”

“Well, we don’t have the time to retrieve him. Let alone bury him. Right now, the three of us need to focus on findin’ Arthur, and puttin’ him down for good. Problem is, he ain’t alone.”

Micah held up a thoughtful finger, standing up from his bedroll. “Well, y’know, Dutch, before Bill tried to play mother hen with me earlier... I was thinking. We all know Arthur’s big and bad, but no matter how strong that man is, he’s bound to have a weakness. A soft spot where we can hit him real hard, and hurt him real good.”

Dutch had a feeling he already knew what that weakness was. “Go on.”

Micah continued with his explanation, slowly pacing back and forth in front of his tent. “The boy, Dutch. You’ve seen how much he means to Arthur. Hell, he was willin’ to bail on you for the kid. That’s gotta mean something.”

The other man placed a foot on a nearby stump, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what? You sayin’ we should kill Isaac first?”

“No, Dutch. Don’t you see?” Micah strolled up to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t need to kill Arthur at all. The only thing we gotta do is put a good ol’ fashioned bullet through Isaac’s skull, and the rest will handle itself. You’ll have your revenge, and we’ll have one less problem to worry about.”

Unsurprisingly, Dutch didn’t seem to fully approve of the plan.

“I don’t know, Micah. I...” his voice tugged with heartache, “...I hate Arthur... for what he did to me. And I want nothin’ more than to make him pay for it. But the pain of losing a child...” Dutch gazed downward, “there ain’t nothing that can compare to it. Even a traitorous bastard like Arthur doesn’t deserve that.”

Still, Micah persisted. “Why? What does Isaac mean to you for you to spare him?”

Dutch brushed his hand off. “It ain’t about Isaac. It’s about Arthur. You know the history between us. How much we’ve been through. How long we’ve known each other.”

Micah raised his hands in a diplomatic manner. “Of course, Dutch. Of course. But... let me put it this way.” He leaned closer to the older man. “...Arthur’s your son. I mean, he may as well be. You raised him ever since he was a boy. You taught him to read, you taught him to shoot. You’re his father, Dutch. And yet, despite all that effort to keep him safe, and to keep him alive... he still left you when you needed him most. He left you alone.”

Dutch listened intently, causing Micah to reel in the line now that he had him hooked.

“So, I says we go find Isaac, kill him, and leave Arthur alone. He’ll share the same pain you felt, and he’ll know what it means to turn on our gang. Just like you wanted.”

The man let out a sharp sigh. “That ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least consider it. It ain’t just about the sentiment, after all, Dutch. There’s also the, uh... strategic aspect of it, if you will. So long as Isaac lives, we’re gonna have a helluva time tryin’ to reach Arthur. That boy’s a menace, and he’s nearly as rage-driven as you. He’s got to go.”

Dutch rubbed his chin in thought, appalled by the idea of taking Arthur’s child away from him, but admittedly conceding Micah’s point.

“I will... think about what you’ve said.”

Micah appeared pleased with that. “Thank you, Dutch. That’s all I ask.” He began to stroll away from him. “Trust me, boss... this is all for the good of the gang.”


	14. When Death Comes Knocking At Your Door

ONE WEEK LATER

BARROW LAGOON, AMBARINO

Steadily rowing the narrow boat back to shore, Isaac allowed himself to glide across the icy water as a series of ripples wobbled in the surface around him, causing broken plates of ice to shift to the sides.

He had just finished catching some fish in the snow-covered lake, and thanks to the peaceful nature of the wildlife in these parts, he also managed to pick a few herbs that might’ve helped with his father’s sickness. Isaac doubted they would do anything to cure him, but he just hoped they’d be able to tame his cough at the very least.

He had enough to worry about, after all. Between watching out for Pinkertons and looking after Arthur’s health, Isaac honestly didn’t care that much about reaching Canada for the time being.

Hell, he was willing to stay in The United States for another fifteen years if it meant his father could focus on recovering, but... knowing Arthur, Isaac doubted he’d able to convince the man to worry about his own well-being before his son’s.

That stubborn old man always seemed to attend to everyone else’s needs first. Isaac knew his father came from a place of compassion, but he just wished he could’ve done something to help him in return. A gun didn’t do much when it came to battling pestilence, and that was about the only thing Isaac knew how to use.

Part of him just wanted Arthur to return to civilization. He knew the man loathed being around places that were full of people, but they weren’t going to find a doctor anywhere else. 

Time was running out for the outlaw, and the last thing Isaac wanted was for that time to be wasted. He and Arthur may have argued sometimes, but the man was right about one thing. This was their only chance to make things right.

Letting the boat slide back onto dry land, the young man hopped out of his seat and lugged the sack of fish over his shoulder, slowly trudging through the crunchy snow as he made his way back to Arthur.

At the moment, the older man was looking after their horses just by the shoreline and had a fishing rod of his own cast in the lake, but it didn’t look like he had been able to catch much.

His nose was red from the cold, and judging by the pale tint of his skin and the dark circles surrounding his eyes, Isaac assumed his illness wasn’t getting any better.

He walked up to the man, trying his best to conceal the concerned expression on his face.

“Isaac,” Arthur greeted upon seeing the boy. “You’re back. Find anything?”

Isaac hurled the sack of fish onto the ground, showing him what he had caught.

“Got a couple of fish, but... it ain’t much. Hard to find any food in these parts.”

“Well, it’s still better than what I did. Good work, son.”

The boy strolled over to his horse, giving the animal a friendly pat on the neck.

“What ‘bout you, Dad? You have any luck?”

Arthur let out a chuckle, reeling the line in. “I’m afraid not. You know me, kiddo. I was never much of a fisherman. Though, I did manage to kill a rabbit earlier. Should keep us fed for a few days.”

Isaac grinned humorously. “Once we get to Canada, I’m never eatin’ fish or rabbit again. I’ve had enough of it for a lifetime.”

The other man returned the grin. “Try eatin’ it for thirty years. That was all our cook ever made for us. That, and venison. We rarely ate anything else. Just stew full of rabbit and deer bits.”

“And you wonder why everyone in your gang was always so cranky.”

Arthur paused for a moment, thinking back to his time with the gang. “...Hey, did I ever tell you about Hosea?”

Isaac shook his head. “No. Who is he?”

“Oh, he passed a few years ago,” he said regrettably, “but he and Dutch raised me together. They were practically brothers. Funnily enough though, Hosea was nothin’ like the old man. He was an outlaw same as the rest of us, but somehow, he always managed to be a gentleman about it. He was kind, but firm. Wild, but delicate.” 

A warm smile spread across Arthur’s face. “You remind me of him. I think Hosea would’ve liked you.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Sure. I imagine he’d wanna take you hunting or fishing. He always preferred the outdoors. Hell, he even took me to hunt a bear once.”

Isaac glanced at him incredulously. “Really?”

Arthur nodded. “Really. We dragged ourselves all the way from Valentine to the Grizzlies East just to find the damn thing.”

“Did you catch it?”

“Eventually. But it weren’t easy. The beast almost killed the old man. Luckily, I managed to shoo it away -- more by luck than anything -- and ended up huntin’ it on my own. Got me a pretty good sum. The trapper recognized the ugly bastard’s pelt the minute I dumped it in front of him.”

Isaac gave Arthur a playful smirk. “You ever gonna take me huntin’ for bear?”

The older man laughed. “Not a chance. You’d just scare it off.”

The two of them chortled at that and began packing their things up, preparing to continue their journey as the white sun inched across the sky. The weather was a little warmer today -- or at least warm by Ambarino’s standards -- and tiny droplets of water could be seen melting off of the numerous icicles hanging around the environment. Unfortunately for them though, the road ahead was still mostly obscured by thick layers of snow.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said, climbing on top of Aldo’s saddle. “I’ve been thinking...”

Arthur mounted his own horse, letting out a brief cough. “What’s on your mind, son?”

“Well,” the boy tapped his reins, riding alongside his father, “when all this is over -- if we actually manage to make it outta the country, that is -- I’ll have to find a new way to make a living. A new career. I can’t just be an outlaw forever.”

The older man let one of his arms dangle casually by his side. “No, I s’pose you can’t. You got any ideas on what you wanna do?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah. I think... I think I wanna be a doctor.”

Admittedly, Arthur found himself surprised by the decision. He didn’t doubt his son’s capability, but the young man never really struck him as the medical type. He guessed his recent illness was impacting Isaac more than he realized.

“A doctor? You sure about that?”

“Maybe,” Isaac replied with a shrug. “I dunno. I just...” his eyes sank downward, “...I’m tired of hurtin’ people all the time. It’s all I seem to do. I feel like I can’t go one week without nearly killin’ somebody. I wanna start carin’ for people for a change. Save their lives instead of taking ‘em.”

Arthur smiled proudly. “That’s a real noble thing to do, Isaac. I think it’d be good for you. Heh. And you didn’t believe me when I said you wasn’t a killer.”

The boy’s mood didn’t seem to lift at the remark. “Maybe I ain’t a killer now, but I definitely was before I met you. If you had seen the way I killed Eli...”

The other man remembered the name. “Eli Whitley? He was one of Shay’s friends, wasn’t he? You never really told me what happened to him.”

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “Eli was there when mom died. I hated everyone in Shay’s gang with a passion after that, but Eli... I guess you could say he was the kindest in the group. He was the one who convinced everyone else to spare me when they woulda shot me. He’s the only reason Shay ever took me in.”

“But... that didn’t stop me from goin’ after him.” Isaac continued. “I cornered him outside of Rhodes just a few months before I got to Shay. Interrogated him at this abandoned barn. Didn’t let him die until he told me what I needed. He was probably the least deserving out of the entire gang, and yet... I killed him the slowest.”

Arthur sighed, speaking in a gentler tone. “...What’s wrong with you, Isaac?”

“I... I don’t know. But I wanna change. I don’t wanna be that kinda man anymore. That’s why I’m thinkin’ of being a doctor.”

The older man encouraged the idea. “Well, you’re a smart kid. And you’re still young. I think you could do it.”

“Well, it ain’t set in stone yet. It’s just a thought. For all I know, I could end up becoming a hillbilly granger somewhere. Spend all my days roastin’ under the sun. Scare away the occasional coyote. Yell at kids when they come wanderin’ too close to my property. Marry my cousin.”

Arthur chuckled. “Good to see your sense of humor ain’t run off. Maybe you could go into show business. Become a... performer or something.”

Isaac scoffed in an amused manner. “You really think I could be a performer?”

“Well... maybe not. But don’t limit yourself. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be in Broadway someday.”

The boy laughed. “I hope not. Have you met New Yorkers?”

Arthur nodded, thinking back to a certain stranger he met outside Strawberry. “Yes, actually. Yes, I have.”

He fell quiet for a second, suddenly remember something.

“Hey, Isaac. Before I forget, I just wanted to say, I’m--” a series of coughs interrupted him, “--I’m--”

Being cut off once again, Arthur brought a hand up to his mouth and did his best to overcome the sudden attack, only to feel his heart racing when he realized that it was getting worse.

His entire body shook in pain, and with every jagged cough that escaped him, the more he could feel his throat burning.

“Dad?” Isaac said in concern. “Are you okay?”

Arthur didn’t respond. Instead, he simply continued to cough into his hand, desperately trying to catch his breath. The edges of his vision were starting to grow fuzzy now, and despite his efforts to fight through it, Arthur’s strength began to drain from his body by the minute.

“...Isaac...” He wheezed, his voice raspy with irritation. “I...”

Without any warning, Arthur suddenly tilted off his saddle and collapsed to the ground, sending Isaac into a state of panic as he inspected his father’s unconscious body.

“Dad?!” He exclaimed, shaking the man by the shoulders. “Dad! Hey! Wake up!”

His voice began to echo in Arthur’s ears, fading along with everything else as the world turned black.

“...Wake up...!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER

NIGHTTIME

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

Cold. Pain. Fear.

These were the only things Arthur could feel at the moment. The only things to greet him when he finally returned to consciousness.

The world around him was still dark, and without the sensation of a solid ground beneath him, he might’ve assumed he was dead.

As for his illness, Arthur could still feel it burning the insides of his chest. His throat was dry and sore, and due to the freezing wind embracing his body, it almost felt as if the breeze was carrying his life away with it.

But no... not yet. He couldn’t quit. He was still here. He was still alive. His body hadn’t given out just yet, and he still had to protect Isaac, no matter the cost.

He just didn’t know if he could anymore.

Waking up with a start, Arthur felt yet another chain of coughs rattle his chest as he forced his eyes open, sluggishly observing his new surroundings.

It looked like he had been moved to a shack somewhere in the middle of Ambarino’s mountains, and if it weren’t for the stiff bedroll lying underneath him, Arthur would’ve been sleeping directly on a fresh blanket of snow. 

There wasn’t much of a roof to shelter the shack’s interior from the weather outside, and with the sun now hiding behind the horizon, the night only seemed to grow colder.

Jesus Christ... what had he gotten himself into?

“Dad...?” A familiar voice whispered, drawing Arthur’s attention.

Slowly turning his head to the side, the older man spotted Isaac sitting in a corner of the shack with his rifle clutched tightly to his chest as he guarded his father, clearly anticipating some kind of threat.

His eyes were widened with anxiety, and the way he kept his voice low only heightened Arthur’s sense of fear.

What was going on?

“...Isaac,” Arthur said, barely able to speak at an audible volume. “Where... where are we...? What happened?”

“You had another coughin’ fit.” The boy explained. “You just... passed out. Right onto the road. You-- Jesus Christ, Dad... I thought you were dead. I tried to find you some shelter, but there ain’t much in these mountains. The best I could do was this rundown shack.”

Arthur tried to ease the young man’s nerves, not wanting to escalate things anymore. “It’s okay, Isaac. You did good. But... why d’you seem so afraid? What’s goin’ on?”

“I saw Dutch and his men on the way up here,” Isaac warned. “They were searchin’ the wilds. I think they’re looking for you. They didn’t seem to notice me, but... we have a trail leading directly to us. Dutch could be here at any minute.”

The older man cleared his throat, trying to ignore the pain. “...Shit. That man don’t give up easily. I’ll give him that.”

Isaac looked to his father for guidance. “So, what do we do? Should we just stay here for the night? Or keep moving? I mean, you’re in no condition to travel.”

“We need to get outta here.” Arthur concluded. “You said we have a trail leadin’ straight to us. If anyone finds that...” another cough escaped him.

The boy disagreed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need to get some rest. Pushin’ yourself will only make things worse right now.”

“And if we stay, we risk Dutch findin’ us. Or even worse, the Pinkertons.”

“But you’re too weak!” Isaac argued. “And it’s the middle of the night. If we go back out there, we’ll freeze to death! It doesn’t--”

Interrupting the young man, an ominous thud suddenly emitted from the shack’s flimsy door, causing both of them to go silent.

Isaac instantly aimed his rifle at the entrance and cocked his weapon, standing directly in the middle of the shack due to a lack of cover.

There weren’t any voices talking at the moment, but underneath the loud howling of the wind and the creaking of wood, Isaac could hear a series of footsteps approaching them.

It sounded like they knew someone was inside based on the steady pace of their movements, and when Isaac glanced down at the crack underneath the door, he couldn’t help but notice an orange light seeping through the small gap.

Part of Isaac just wanted to shoot whoever was outside, but if it was Dutch like he suspected, then that meant his men must’ve been nearby. He couldn’t risk drawing their attention with any loud noises, and if a shootout were to ensue, there was no guarantee Arthur would be strong enough to fight through it.

He’d have to keep things quiet for now.

Swinging the door open with a light push, their unexpected visitor welcomed himself into the shack as a gust of wind breezed past him, chilling Arthur and Isaac to the bone.

The man was wrapped head-to-toe in winter clothing and had a revolver in one hand whilst holding a lantern with the other. His face didn’t strike Isaac as incredibly familiar, but upon seeing the pinned-up hat that he adorned, the boy instantly knew who it was.

“...Bill.” He murmured, watching the man’s every move. “You’re here.”

The other man’s eyes widened in recognition, causing him to raise his gun in alarm. “...Shit. So it really is you. I thought I saw someone out here.”

Isaac stepped protectively in front of Arthur, keeping his finger on the trigger.

“...What’re you doin’ here, Williamson?”

“What d’you think I’m doing? Lookin’ for your daddy, of course.” Bill’s gaze wandered over to Arthur, leading to a sudden shift in tone. “...What’s wrong with him?”

The boy tried to hide the fear in his voice. “He’s sick. With what, we don’t know. But... we think it’s the same thing Dutch has.”

Bill was quiet for a second.

“...Is he coughin’ a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there blood?”

Isaac thought back to when Arthur passed out. “Sometimes.”

The other man sighed, his expression remaining flat. “Then it’s probably tuberculosis. At least, that’s what Dutch has, accordin’ to the doctor. He finally saw one the other day.”

The news hit Isaac like a bullet to the gut. He knew whatever Arthur had couldn’t be good, but he never expected it to be that bad.

“...Shit.” He cursed quietly. “That... explains a lot.”

Bringing his attention back to Bill, Isaac pushed his thoughts aside for the moment and strengthened his grip on the rifle, bracing himself for anything.

“Listen to me, Bill. I dunno what the hell Dutch wants, but you don’t have to do this. Just... walk away. Forget you ever saw us.”

The outlaw stood his ground. “And why should I? If I recall correctly, your daddy said he didn’t care about what happened to me the last time I saw him. So why should I care what happens to him now?”

“Because he’s my family. Wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

Bill’s glowered at that. “I would, and I have. The gang was my family. I tried to help ‘em, but the only thing anyone ever did in return was ridicule me! Everyone always treated me like I was some... some idiot! A fool! A drunk! Dutch was the only one who ever treated me with respect. That’s why I gotta do this for him.”

Isaac felt a familiar sense of anger boiling inside him. “...You lay a single finger on my father, and I will kill you myself, Williamson.”

The veteran guffawed mockingly. “Oh, yeah, you’s real tough when you’re attackin’ our gang from the shadows. But you ain’t nothin’ compared to Dutch. And neither is your daddy. That man ain’t just strong. He’s caring. He’s the only reason our gang has survived for so long. He has something that the two of you never will. He has our loyalty.”

The boy almost laughed at the ludicrous statement. “Loyalty? Dutch doesn’t give a shit about you. Any of you. Look at how quickly he turned on my father. What makes you think you’re any different?”

Bill looked at him in bewilderment. “Dutch didn’t turn on your father. Arthur turned on him! Dutch... Dutch is a good man. He helps people. He helped me. When I was at my lowest point, he saved me while everyone else ignored me. He saw somethin’ special in me, and he gave me a new purpose in life. And I will never forget that.”

Isaac sighed in frustration. “You’re blinded by your loyalty, Bill. Dutch may have been a good man in the past, but he’s a tyrant now. A madman. Surely, even you can see that!”

The outlaw grumbled to himself, shaking his head in disagreement. “...You’re a real fool, Isaac. You know that? You kill a couple of our men, and suddenly, you think you’re an expert on our gang. You think you know a goddamn thing about us!”

“I know enough. I know that your gang is finished. I know that there’s no more trust between you. No more loyalty. You’re the only one in your gang who still believes in Dutch’s old rhetoric of a better world, and meanwhile, everyone else has given up on it. Hell, even Micah’s already betrayed you.”

Bill fell silent at that. “...What? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“How else do you think I was able to sneak into your camp?” Isaac pointed out. “How else could I have known about the bank robbery in Blackwater? Think about it, Bill. Your gang’s been fallin’ apart since before I even showed up. Only difference now is... there’s no chance of savin’ it.”

It was clear that the other man’s faith was crumbling at Isaac’s words, but he remained reluctant to admit it.

“No... no. That ain’t true! Dutch is special. He knows how to save people. He’ll get us outta this mess. He always does. And besides, I owe him everything after what he’s done for me. Without him, I’d be nothin’ but a big, dumb oaf. But Dutch... he’s a great man. And when I’m with him, I feel like I can be somebody.”

Isaac found himself at a loss for words, unsure of how he was going to convince Bill to walk away.

The last thing he wanted was to start a firefight in the middle of nowhere, but Bill was turning out to be far more obstinate than even Dutch himself.

The man seemed to idolize their gang’s leader. He still saw Dutch with the same image that he held eight years ago, and it looked like he wanted nothing more than to be like him.

But... there was more to Bill. Isaac could see it. Beneath all the anger and recklessness, the boy could sense that there was something pure at Williamson’s core.

It was clear that he still carried some wounds from the ridicule he endured in the past, but with enough encouragement, Isaac hoped he’d able to persuade Bill to overcome it.

If they were going to get out of Ambarino alive, they’d have to make sure that no one else found them. And right now, Bill was the only determining factor on whether or not that would happen.

Isaac didn’t want to take another life, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

“Y’know, Bill...” he said carefully, “I used to feel the same. Not too long ago, I used to believe that without my father, I’d be nothin’ more than a heartless killer. I saw him as somebody I wanted to be. Somebody who I needed to be. But you know what he told me?” 

Arthur perked his head up in interest, silently listening to Isaac from his bed as the boy spoke about him.

“He said that when all this is over, I ain’t gonna be like him. Or Dutch. Or Shay. Or even Micah. I’m gonna be my own man. A better man. And somethin’ tells me you can be, too.”

Bill softened his voice at the non-hostile approach, struggling to get his thoughts out. He hadn’t exactly reached a friendly disposition just yet, but his demeanor wasn’t nearly as aggressive as before.

“Them’s pretty words, Isaac...” he muttered quietly. “But how do I know you mean them? How do I know you ain’t just playin’ me for a fool like everyone else has?”

The young man clenched his jaw in nervousness, trying to steady his breath.

“...Because I’m tired of killin’ folk. I’m tired of always fearin’ for my life. If you lower your gun, I’m willin’ to lower mine.”

Bill glanced at Arthur. “And your daddy? He gonna let me go, too? Or is he gonna gimme the same treatment he gave Micah?”

“He ain’t gon’ do nothing. He doesn’t have the strength. Just walk out of here and pretend you never saw us. We’ll do the same.”

The outlaw hesitated for a minute, clearly torn by the dilemma. Despite his animosity towards Arthur, he seemed to have some sympathy for the man due to their history together. 

Their gang used to be like family after all, and as rotten as Williamson could’ve been sometimes, even he wasn’t so monstrous as to murder a boy and his dying father in cold blood. Not yet, anyway. 

A part of him actually believed what the young man said to him earlier, and if Isaac was telling the truth about Micah being a traitor, it was likely that the rat had spoken with the Pinkertons too. If that was the case, then their gang truly was finished.

Dutch may have been a fighter, but even he couldn’t work miracles. Bill would have to get out of this life as soon as possible if he wanted any hope of surviving, and perhaps this was his chance.

He finally lowered his gun, keeping an eye out for any sudden moves from the boy.

“...Goddammit, Isaac.” Bill muttered in annoyance. “Fine. I’ll let you go. This time.”

The young man slowly followed Bill’s actions, admittedly somewhat tentative to believe the outlaw.

“You will?”

“Yeah, but like I said, just this once. If Dutch or Micah find you again, I won’t be able to do anythin’ about that.”

Isaac felt a wave of relief wash over him, allowing him to relax a little.

“...Thank you, Bill.” He said sincerely. “You’re a good man. Or at least, a better man than you think.”

Bill didn’t crack his shell just yet, but Isaac could tell there was a sense of appreciation somewhere in him.

“Sure, Isaac.” He turned around and headed for the shack’s door, stopping in his tracks just before he left.

“Listen, there is somethin’ you should know. The truth is, Dutch doesn’t care about findin’ your father. It’s you he’s really after.”

Isaac raised a brow. “Why me?”

“Hell if I know. Dutch mostly shuts me out these days. Only Micah truly knows what he’s up to. Just... be careful around him. There’s no tellin’ what he has planned for the both of you. Especially after all the hell you’ve raised.”

The boy gave him a nod. “I’ll remember that. Oh, and Williamson?”

Bill looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“...Thank you again. I won’t forget this.”

The grumpy outlaw stepped back out into the snow, pulling his scarf over his nose as the night slowly came to an end.

“Don’t thank me yet.”


	15. Farewell

THE NEXT DAY

GRIZZLIES WEST

Resting a hand on the journal’s worn pages, Dutch hesitated to turn to the next chapter as he thought back on the things he’d just read, wondering where everything went wrong.

Just this morning, he finally took the time to sit down and skim through some of Arthur’s private thoughts, only to end up discovering that they were much worse than he expected.

It was evident from the entries that Arthur lost his faith in their gang years ago. His words had no motivation behind them. No hope. No purpose.

They were all just so... bleak, and so full of finality.

It only made Dutch wonder if things were always meant to end this way. If, perhaps, Arthur was meant to turn on him from the start.

He knew the man wouldn’t be able to stick around forever. No one would. Not even Hosea. But the fact that he lost Arthur so quickly and so easily made Dutch question if there was ever a true relationship between them.

If there was, he would’ve given anything to get it back.

“Boss!” Micah’s voice suddenly barked from behind, leading Dutch to look up from the journal.

“What is it?” He asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

The other man sniffed, strolling in his direction through thick snow.

“...We got a problem, Dutch. It’s Bill.” Micah stepped next to him, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I think... he’s cut loose.”

Dutch snapped his head towards Micah in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“What? What do you mean he’s cut loose?”

Micah gestured towards the horizon, casually explaining his thought process.

“I saw some tracks leadin’ to the south from where I sent Bill to investigate last night. His horse is gone too. You ask me, I think he made a run for it. Probably decided to make his way back to New Austin. Try to survive on his own in the desert. He certainly talked about it a lot.”

“You sure it wasn’t somebody else’s tracks?”

The outlaw chuckled. “Who else could it have been? The Pinkertons? They’re mean bastards, I’ll give you that, but I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to actually come out here, Dutch. No... I’m pretty sure it was Bill.”

Dutch firmly shut the journal closed, storming off into the distance. “Dammit...! That goddamn coward.”

Micah gazed after him, shrugging in confusion. “You wanna try findin’ him?”

The older man coughed before waving a dismissive hand. “No. We’re here for Arthur and Isaac. No one else. If Bill wants to leave us behind and freeze to death in these mountains, then so be it.”

“Of course, of course. But you should know, Dutch... it’s gonna be trickier, now that it’s just the two of us. ‘Cause as much as I hate Arthur and his lil’ brat, I can’t deny that them boys know how to fight. I mean, look at what they did to my goddamn eye.”

Dutch glanced down at the journal, mindlessly tightening his grip on it. “...I’ll fight Arthur myself if need be. I raised him ever since he was a boy. I know how he thinks.”

The man coughed a few more times, his strength wavering with every jagged breath as the wind howled loudly around them.

“...Listen, son,” Dutch continued, his tone much softer now, “I don’t know how all this is gonna end. I don’t know if... Arthur will kill me, or if the tuberculosis will, but... whatever happens, I appreciate you stayin’ by my side this whole time. You’ve always had my back ever since you joined us, and I won’t forget it.”

Micah grinned, his eyes dark with insincerity. “Of course, Dutch. You’re practically family to me now. There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Dutch nodded in reassurance. “I know, son. I know.” 

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Dutch walked over to his horse and began mounting up, eager to continue his search for Arthur while the day was still young.

“C’mon, Micah.” He beckoned. “We’ve got one last score to settle.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

“Here,” Isaac said, handing a warm mug to Arthur as the campfire crackled between them. “Drink this.”

The man took the cup in hand, curiously examining the dark liquid inside. “What is it?”

“It’s... medicine, I guess you could say,” Isaac answered. “I made it from some herbs I picked. I was gonna brew it when we got done fishing yesterday, but I never had the chance. It should calm your cough down a bit.”

Arthur raised the mug in appreciation, beaming at the boy. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Isaac held up a hand just before his father could consume the drink, giving him a last-minute warning.

“Oh, um, just so you know -- it’s probably gonna taste like shit.”

Arthur chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips. “Yeah, I figured as much. That tends to be the case with most medicines. Though, it can’t be worse than salted offal.”

He took a sip, immediately grimacing from the bizarre taste. “Jesus Christ, you wasn’t kidding. What kinda herbs did you make this with?”

Isaac smirked at his father’s disgusted expression. “English Mace and Alaskan Ginseng. They’re pretty hard to find in Ambarino, but they’re a common mixture when it comes to curing illnesses. I remember mom always used to make this when I got sick.”

Arthur cocked a brow in interest. “Did she?”

The boy smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I’d always get nervous whenever I saw her makin’ it in the kitchen ‘cause I knew it would taste horrible. But... I can’t really complain. It did its job, after all.”

The older man nodded in a nostalgic manner. “Yep. Eliza always had a knack for takin’ care of people. I remember she’d fret over me every single time I came home, lookin’ to see if I had any stray bullets stuck in me and whatnot.” A sigh escaped Arthur. “Your mother was such a sweet woman. She didn’t deserve the stress I put her through.”

Isaac gave Arthur a gentle look, reminiscing about his times with Eliza. “...She loved you, you know.”

Arthur cupped the warm mug in his hands, setting it down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom always talked about you whenever you was away. She could never say much since she didn’t want me to know about your work, but I could tell she missed you. She was never angry, though. She understood why you couldn’t be around.”

Arthur felt a tinge of guilt. “...Did you?”

“Not at the time,” Isaac admitted. “But I do now. You had people to look after. A gang to protect. You couldn’t just abandon them.”

The older man glanced at the ground in remorse. “I guess that’s true. But I still wish I could’ve protected you and Eliza. You were in danger, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Isaac shook his head in disagreement. “It was four men against a woman and her child. Even if you had been there, you probably just would’ve gotten shot with her. And trust me, that’s not what mom woulda wanted. For either of us.”

Arthur found some peace in those words. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Falling into silence for a moment, the two of them quietly enjoyed each other’s company as snowflakes gently fluttered down from the sky, painting the ground around them with a new layer of snow.

The weather was getting colder in this region, or so it felt. It was probably due to the fact that they were further up north than before, but the sun seemed to appear less often these days, and Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything apart from dying grass and naked trees.

It just made the boy wonder how much longer they had until they’d reach Canada’s border. He had never been anywhere outside of the United States, so the idea of finding freedom in a different country was admittedly daunting for him... but he knew they had to do it.

There was nothing left for them in America. Both of their gangs had scattered to the winds, and it was more than obvious that the age of outlaws was finally dying out. 

Civilization was moving on without them, and if they didn’t catch up, they wouldn’t survive. It was a sad truth about their lives, but one they had to accept.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said. “I gotta ask. Did you... hear what Bill said last night? About Dutch bein’ sick with TB?”

Arthur nodded, his tone more serious now. “Yep. It would explain why we’ve both been coughin’ so much.”

The boy sighed. “...I’m sorry. I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

The older man coughed into his elbow a few times. “You’ve done more than enough, Isaac. Don’t go blamin’ yourself, now. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. “It’s just... hard to accept, you know?”

Arthur took another sip of his drink. “I understand.”

Finishing the rest of his medicine, Arthur put the empty mug down and stood up from his seat, stretching out his arms as he began gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Isaac, why don’t you go make sure the horses are ready? I think it’s time we get movin’ again. We’ve been stuck here long enough.”

The boy followed his father’s actions and headed over to the hitching posts, helping to pack up their camp.

“Okay. You think this weather will hold up? It got pretty bad last night. I just hope there won’t be another storm blowin’ through here before we can... we can...”

Stopping mid-sentence, Isaac’s voice suddenly trailed off into silence as the young man noticed something in the distance, leading Arthur to follow his gaze.

“Isaac?” He called out. “Everything okay?”

The man glanced at Arthur, his tone now low with caution. “Dad, I think I see Pinkertons.”

Taking hold of his gun, the older man instantly strode over to Isaac’s side and stepped protectively in front of him, looking to see who it was approaching them from the horizon.

Their uniforms certainly resembled that of the Pinkertons, but unlike before, it wasn’t just Edgar Ross and Agent Fordham. This time, it looked like they had an entire group of men riding with them, ready to take Arthur and Isaac in at a moment’s notice.

Arthur whispered quietly to the young man as the Pinkertons rode in their direction, making sure to keep his movements subtle.

“Keep your gun close, boy. And be ready to ride when I say so.”

Isaac nodded, taking position near the horses. “Got it.”

Standing his ground, Arthur readied his pistol as the Pinkertons got closer to their camp, causing a trail of snow to wildly spray behind their mounts.

So far, no one was shooting at them, so Arthur took that as a sign that the Pinkertons wanted them alive. But based on the heavy amount of security Ross had brought with him this time, he assumed that lethal force was no longer out of the question.

Arthur would have to do his best to keep things peaceful. There weren’t a lot of places for them to hide out here, and if anyone started firing, he and Isaac would be caught dead in the open.

It was unlikely that they’d be able to run away from this without a fight, but for the sake of not getting Isaac killed, Arthur was sure as hell going to try.

He just had to trust that the boy would do the same.

“Mr. Morgan.” Agent Ross greeted upon reaching the camp, remaining mounted on his horse. The rest of the Pinkertons lined up beside him, keeping their rifles at the ready.

“I’m surprised to see you all the way out here,” Edgar confessed. “I didn’t think you’d risk trying to survive out in this cold, but it seems Mr. Bell was correct.”

That caught Arthur off-guard. “You spoke with Micah?”

The Pinkerton casually adjusted his sleeves, straightening the cuffs. “Regrettably, yes. Not too long ago, actually. He was quite the informant. Said he didn’t know exactly where to find you, but that he suspected you were wandering somewhere in Grizzlies West. Looks like he knew what he was talking about. For once.”

Arthur grunted at that. “I’m sure he did.” He coughed a number of times, trying to stifle it as he spoke. “Look, what d’you want? It’s clear you ain’t just here to chat.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. We’re done giving second chances, I’m afraid. Though, I’ve given you far more than that, haven’t I?”

The agent took a few steps forward, signaling the other Pinkertons to brace themselves.

“Look, Mr. Morgan, I know we’re both tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Lord knows I am. But I need you to listen to me. Ideally, we would like to capture you alive and have you face full justice, but I think it’s safe to assume by now that you’re not the type to cooperate with the law. Or with anyone, really.”

Ross held up a cautionary finger. “This is why I’m only giving you one last opportunity to comply. Surrender your weapons, and come with us peacefully. Do this, and you have my word that you and your son will not be harmed. Not for now, anyway. Once we return to civilization though, your lives will be in the hands of the law. You will both face a trial, and a judge will sentence you. What happens after that is up to them. If you refuse to surrender, however...”

The Pinkertons prepared their weapons, causing Isaac to grow restless in his position. Arthur threw a side-glance at him, reminding him to stay calm.

“...well,” Edgar continued, “I think you know what’ll come next.”

The outlaw scoffed at the meager offer, glaring at Ross in disbelief. “So, my only options are to either die right here, or let you drag me and my son all the way to Blackwater where you can parade us around before havin’ us swing? You really think that I’ll--” a cough interrupted him, “--that I’ll--”

Another series of coughs came bursting from Arthur’s throat, causing the man to keel over slightly as the Pinkertons watched him from their mounts, waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, Isaac stared at his father in concern and felt the need to rush over to him, but restrained himself out of fear of alarming the Pinkertons.

“...That’s quite a cough.” Edgar remarked plainly.

Arthur spat some blood onto the snow, wiping his mouth. “TB will do that to you. I got it from Dutch himself, apparently.”

“That’s a tough disease.”

“Sure. But it makes your job easier, I suppose.”

Edgar rested his arms on the saddle’s horn. “I know you see us as the bad guys, Mr. Morgan. We’re the ones threatening your livelihood, after all. But what’ll it take for you to see that you’re also threatening the livelihood of others? You people are all about violence, and living in the wild. Your code revolves entirely around one man and his gun versus another man. It’s survival of the fittest, put simply. It’s a living hell.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talkin’ philosophy with the wrong man, agent. I done some bad things in my time -- that, I won’t deny -- but I don’t care about any of that no more. Right now, only concern is my son. And as much as you and I may disagree, you are right about one thing. You are a threat to my son’s safety, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll convince me to let you lay your hands on him.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. “Well, unfortunately for you, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Realizing that it was pointless trying to dissuade Arthur from the inevitable, Edgar decided to put an end to this chase and reached for his gun, swiftly pulling it out so that he could shoot the man.

Just before he could properly aim however, Arthur quickly caught wind of his intentions and hastily fired a stray bullet, shooting Edgar’s horse in the neck. The creature reared in panic and collapsed to the ground, causing the agent to be trapped under its massive body. 

Though, that didn’t stop the man from pulling the trigger. Despite the unexpected turn of events, Edgar still attempted to take a shot at the outlaw, and before Arthur even had time to react, he suddenly felt a sharp pain hitting him in the abdomen.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what just happened.

“Father!” Isaac shouted in horror, hurrying to Arthur’s side. He fired two bullets into the line of Pinkertons, taking down an agent with each of them. 

Letting out a strained groan, the boy desperately dragged Arthur over to his horse as the agents continued to fire back at him, only to end up shooting a large tree that stood between them.

“Stay with me, Dad...!” Isaac urged, helping his father onto his horse.

Climbing onto the saddle in front of Arthur, the young man let loose another bullet in the Pinkertons’ direction before bolting off in the other, causing Agent Ross to yell after them.

“Goddammit!” He barked. “Don’t let them escape! And somebody help me out from under this horse!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

NORTHEAST OF LAKE ISABELLA, COLTER

Galloping frantically through the snow as the Pinkertons fervently chased after him, Isaac found himself riding into what looked an abandoned settlement not too far away from Lake Isabella, leading him to come to a halt.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was give the Pinkertons a chance to catch up to him, but with the state that Arthur was currently in, he needed someone to look after his wounds. 

There was already a worrying amount of blood staining the fabric of his shirt, and judging by the roughness of the man’s breathing, Isaac assumed the horse’s sporadic movement wasn’t helping him much either.

He hopped off of Aldo’s saddle, quickly bringing Arthur into his arms.

“I got you, Dad.” Isaac whispered, letting the older man lean on him as he headed inside one of the cabins. “Just hold on.”

Arthur groaned sharply at the pain piercing through him, struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace.

“...What the hell’re you doing...?” He wheezed, pressing a hand on his stomach where the bullet had hit him. “You need... to run...! The Pinkertons--”

“--I’ll worry about the goddamn Pinkertons later!” Isaac dismissed. “I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not like this.”

Kicking the cabin’s flimsy door open, Isaac practically hurled Arthur inside before shutting the entrance again, giving the older man some time to rest on the floor. They couldn’t hear any of the Pinkertons’ voices at the moment, but Isaac knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up their trail again.

He crouched down next to Arthur, taking a closer look at his injury.

“Shit...” Isaac muttered under his breath, unsure of what to do. He fumbled through his pockets for a minute, desperately searching for anything that could’ve helped. “I... I have some bandages left. Here.”

Stretching the bandages into one long strip, Isaac tightly wrapped them around Arthur’s waist as the man hissed in pain, trying not to make too much noise lest the Pinkertons hear them. 

Blood was already starting to seep through the thin layers of white cloth, and with every agonizing second that slipped by, the more Arthur could feel his energy escaping him.

No, Arthur thought to himself. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not after fighting for so long. Not after finding his son after all these years.

He had to stay strong. For Isaac’s sake. The boy was counting on him to survive. He couldn’t die now. He refused to.

“...Dammit...!” Arthur cursed through clenched teeth as Isaac pulled on the bandages. “That son-of-a-bitch got me good...!” 

The outlaw’s body shook with another series of coughs, causing even more blood to gush from the open wound.

Isaac immediately placed his hands on top of the injury and pressed down, doing whatever he could to stop the bleeding. But it was no use.

The red liquid only ended up leaking through the cracks between his fingers, and by now, Arthur’s skin had transformed into an alarmingly pale color. 

His eye sockets were almost purple, and judging by how the man could barely walk right now, Isaac knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him getting out of this alive. But that didn’t mean he was willing to quit.

“Hold on, Dad...” the boy pleaded, “...please. Just hold on.”

“...Isaac...” Arthur groaned out, his voice grating against his throat. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” The boy insisted. “Don’t you give up on me now.”

The outlaw coughed weakly, struggling to get his next words out. “...Isaac, listen to me.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated, but Arthur knew what was coming. “We just... we just need to...”

“Isaac...!” He said more firmly, gripping the boy’s arm this time. “Listen to me.”

The young man fell silent, his eyes glossy with tears. He looked up at his father, fully aware of what the future held. 

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” Arthur said softly, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. I know... this ain’t how we wanted things to end, but it’s what we’ve come to. It’s what we gotta deal with. You hear me...? I need you... to be strong, Isaac.”

The boy gazed downwards, unable to hide his true emotions. 

“I...I don’t know if I can, Dad. First mom, and now you? I can’t lose both of you. Not after we just found each other again.”

Arthur placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, urging the man to keep his composure. “I know it’s difficult, Isaac, but...” a cough rattled his chest, decimating what little energy he had left, “...I know you can still survive this. You’re strong. Much stronger than you realize. You just... have to keep pushing. Just for a little longer.”

Isaac shut his eyes, shaking his head in refusal. “...I ain’t goin’ to Canada without you, Dad. You’re outta your mind if you think I’m gonna leave you behind--”

“--You have to, Isaac...!” Arthur reiterated. “I wish things was different. I do. But look at me. I’m sick, I’m dying... I ain’t much use to anyone in this state. But you... you can still make it. You can still reach the border. You’ll be a free man. You’ll have the chance to start a new life for yourself. One that isn’t full of death, and violence, and fear. It’s the life your mother and I wanted for you.”

“But you said it yourself,” Isaac recalled. “What’s the point of survivin’ if you’ve got no one to care for?”

Arthur’s hand began to slide down Isaac’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally being reflected in his movement.

“You will find other people, Isaac. And besides, life don’t end just ‘cause you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll find someone you love. Someone who... you can start a family with.” A quiet chuckle escaped Arthur. “...Heh. Who knows...? You might even have a son of your own, someday. But whatever happens... you need to get out of Ambarino alive, first. You can’t stay here. You can’t... let me hold you back. You understand?”

Interrupted by the sound of men yelling at each other from outside, Isaac glanced out of one of the windows and suddenly noticed the large presence of Pinkertons closing in on the area, causing Arthur to reach for the boy’s hand.

“Isaac...!” He whispered urgently. “Tell me you understand.”

The young man gazed down at his father, still reluctant to leave him behind. The idea of leaving Arthur alone in the middle of these mountains tore Isaac apart with guilt, but deep down, he knew it had to be done if he wanted to live.

There were far too many Pinkertons for him to fight alone, and if they managed to corner him in this cabin, they’d both be finished.

Isaac would be shipped off to Blackwater to be executed, and all of Arthur’s efforts would’ve been in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“...O-Okay.” The boy finally agreed, his voice trembling softly. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Arthur appeared content with that and let out a relieved breath, his shoulders now slouching due to the fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

“...Thank you, Isaac.” he murmured weakly. 

Reaching for his satchel’s strap, Arthur slowly pulled the bag off and reached for his gun before handing both of them to Isaac, ensuring that the boy would have some supplies in the wilderness.

“It ain’t much...” Arthur said with a cough, “...but there’re some provisions left in here. They should keep you goin’ for a few more days. And take my pistol, too. You’ll need the extra firepower.”

Isaac cradled the last-minute gifts in his palms, staying quiet as his father lived out his final moments.

“Oh,” the older man remembered, “and there’s one last thing... I want you to take...”

Lifting a shaky hand up, Arthur gently gripped the dented crown of his hat and gave the accessory to Isaac, placing it so that it sat proudly on top of his head.

The hat looked like it was made for the young man, and for just a split second, Arthur almost felt like he was looking at a reflection of his younger self. Isaac had the same ruffled hair, the same blue eyes, and if he looked closely enough, Arthur could’ve sworn he saw some of Eliza’s features hiding behind his expression.

It was the perfect fit, just like when Arthur took the hat from his own father.

“You look just like me when I was younger,” the outlaw reminisced with a faint smile. “...Eliza would’ve been so proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

Isaac’s sharp gaze softened a bit at the remark. “You think?”

“Well, I know I am.”

Letting his head lean back against the wall, Arthur finally decided to rest and and gazed up at the cabin’s decrepit ceiling, sighing in peace as Isaac stood up from the floor.

This wasn’t quite the death he imagined he would experience, but no matter how cold these mountains were, or how desolate their environment remained, Arthur still considered himself lucky for being able to be with his son in his final moments.

Part of him wished he could simply ignore the pain and follow Isaac out of these woods, but as the edges of his vision started to go black, the more reality began to sink in... and the more Arthur came to accept the fate that had been given to him.

His job in this world was done. His time with Dutch’s gang was over, and his responsibility as a father had been fulfilled. 

Isaac was his own man now. The boy still had much to learn about life and the people around him, but from now on, Arthur would have to trust that he would do the right thing in the future.

It was his journey to lead from this point, and Arthur could only hope that the kid had a better chance at life than he ever did.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the boy. The only thing he and Dutch ever dreamed of.

Freedom.

“...Isaac...” Arthur whispered, his breath faltering with every syllable, “...if you see Dutch again.... tell him I never hated him. And I’m sorry I weren’t there when he needed me.”

The young man nodded in an assuring manner, trying his best not to break down in front of his father. “I will.”

“...Thank you, son...” The older man said quietly, letting his head tilt to the side. “Thank you.”

On the outside, he might’ve looked miserable to the boy, but on the inside, he was surprisingly content. Arthur found himself flipping through all his memories like an old photo album and recalled the days from when Dutch first met him, all the way to when he finally reunited with Isaac in Tall Trees.

There were so many emotions flowing through him. So many what ifs. So many things he wished he could’ve said when he still had the chance to say them.

He thought about his parents. He thought about Dutch and Hosea -- about their gang. He remembered the days they’d spend riding freely through the open deserts of New Austin, and the nights where they’d share stories around the campfire.

He thought about the years he spent falling in love with Mary. About the life he wished he could’ve had with her.

He remembered the pain of her absence when she decided to marry another man, and the happiness that quickly replaced it when he ran into Eliza a few years later.

But most importantly, Arthur remembered the day Isaac was born. He remembered the feeling of holding him for the first time, and wondering how on earth he was going to raise a family.

The boy was so innocent back then. So pure. He was completely untouched by the troubles of the world, and every time Arthur came home to visit, he’d feel at peace seeing his son’s face again... only to be forced to leave a few days later.

In the beginning, Arthur thought he’d never see Isaac again. He thought that Shay and his men had finished the kid off for good, and that he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life.

And yet, here he was -- fifteen years later -- a full grown man, and fighting against the world entirely on his own, stronger than ever.

He carried a lifetime of sorrow and remorse with him, but Arthur knew that Isaac was still good at heart. The young man had the same compassion that Eliza held for others, and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of the boy if he tried.

He loved him more than life itself, but now... he had to leave him behind. One last time.

Finally reaching the end of the road, Arthur welcomed the cold sensation that embraced him and calmly shut his eyes, falling still as one final breath escaped him.

His body was completely motionless now. Completely devoid of life. And the longer Isaac stared at the corpse of his father, the more he could feel warm tears welling up in his eyes. 

He was alone again. After all those years of seeking vengeance for Eliza’s death and finding the strength to move on from it, the process of mourning had reset itself.

It felt like the world around him had stopped turning, and despite the urgent threat of the Pinkertons lurking close by, Isaac couldn’t help but feel nothing except emptiness.

But he knew there was no time to grieve. Not right now. Arthur would’ve wanted him to get out of here safely, and he wouldn’t have wanted him to look back.

So, with one last farewell, Isaac said a brief goodbye to his father before heading for the cabin’s exit, and taking his leave from the abandoned town.

He felt like the same scared, little boy that watched Eliza die again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let others determine his fate for him.

He wasn’t going to allow anyone to control him like Shay or his gang did, and he wasn’t going to lose himself to vengeance.

The only thing he was going to do was reach the border, and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE COLTER

Stepping back out into the unforgiving weather of Ambarino, Isaac removed himself from the confines of the cabin and began making his way back to Aldo, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a man waiting for him outside.

The man was clearly a Pinkerton based on his uniform, but unlike his fellow lawmen, he seemed to display no hostility towards Isaac. His gun was resting in its holster, and even though the boy was obviously alone now, the agent showed no intentions of taking advantage of the situation.

In fact, his temperament suggested quite the opposite. The man wore a sympathetic expression on his face, and when his eyes landed on the signature hat sitting on Isaac’s head, a proverbial light bulb seemed to illuminate in his mind.

Isaac tentatively walked towards the man, analyzing his face.

It was Agent Fordham.

“There you are.” The Pinkerton said as he leaned against a wall, keeping his arms crossed. 

The boy kept a hand close to his gun, admittedly suspicious of the lawman’s motives.

“Archer Fordham...? What are... what are you doin’ here? You knew I was in there?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I saw you and your father go inside earlier, but I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

Archer sighed morosely, gazing at the snow-covered ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Morgan. Your father and I may have been on opposite sides of the law, but it sounds like he was a good man.”

Isaac replied halfheartedly, still somewhat shocked by the sudden death.

“He was.”

The Pinkerton steadily approached Isaac, careful not to alarm him.

“Listen, Mr. Morgan, I know this is a traumatic time for you, but you need to understand your current position. If Edgar finds you, you’ll be a dead man. After that little shootout he had with your father back at camp, he’s fully intent on taking you back to Blackwater as a corpse. He won’t let you walk out of here alive.”

Isaac picked up on the man’s tone. “...But you will?”

Fordham let out a conflicted breath, furrowing his brow in thought. “I believe in a world of law, Isaac, but I don’t believe that a world built on order has to be one without mercy. I’ve read your files. I know you’re only twenty-one years old. And I know that if I alert my superiors of your presence here, they’ll take away everything you’ve worked for. They’ll have you killed.”

The agent stepped closer to Isaac, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

“...I know Edgar disagrees with me on this, but I think you deserve a chance at life. It may be the unlawful thing to do -- letting you go -- but I believe it’s the right thing to do. After all, how much is civilization really worth if we reflect the same savagery we fight?”

Taken aback by Archer’s compassion, Isaac found himself at a loss for words and simply stared at the man incredulously, unable to believe his stroke of luck.

“You-- you’re--” Isaac stuttered, “...thank you, Fordham. I doubt your friends would’ve done the same.”

The Pinkerton maintained a stoic demeanor, but Isaac could tell he felt empathy for the young man.

“Just don’t mistake my mercy as a pardon. You’ll still be a wanted man in the United States, and the Pinkertons will take you in if they find you again -- myself included. So, if you have any plans to get out of the country, I’d use them now. This will be the only chance you get.”

Isaac nodded despondently, his mind still preoccupied with Arthur’s final words. “Of course. I understand.”

Archer turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, promptly ending the conversation there.

“Good. Then I think it’s best if you and I pretend we never had this talk.”

Mounting up, Agent Fordham took hold of the reins and clicked his tongue, urging the horse to begin trotting away.

“It’s a shame that it had to end this way, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you luck. For both our sakes, I hope we never cross paths again.”

Isaac watched the man slowly vanish into the distance, holding onto Arthur’s gun as if his father were still around. He was fully aware that the man wasn’t coming back, and yet, part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Strangely enough though, that just seemed to make it even worse.

“Yeah...” Isaac whispered solemnly, his tone burdened with loneliness. 

“...Me too.”


	16. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell I can’t believe it’s already over. Even though this fanfic wasn’t as long as some of my other ones, I still really enjoyed writing it for you guys, and I wanted to say thanks to those of you who stuck around this long. I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and I hope you’ll be there for other stories too :)

THE NEXT MORNING

MOUNT HAGEN

Emptiness. Silence. Isolation.

These were the new foundations of the world.

As the lonely breeze howled loudly in the wind, and the pale sun climbed higher in the never-ending sky, Isaac remained seated in the sea of snow, devoid of any hope that once lived inside him.

He was alone. 

Just like before.

After fifteen years of battling with his grief and growing up with an insatiable sense of hatred, history had repeated itself all over again. 

Only this time... Isaac didn’t care.

He couldn’t find a reason to.

Without Arthur at his side, or Eliza to help guide him, the boy felt completely lost. He felt like the world was swallowing him whole, and the longer he stared aimlessly at the distant horizon, the more he wondered if there was any point in reaching the border.

How did he know that wouldn’t experience the same kind of pain in Canada? What guarantee did he have that the people he met in the future wouldn’t simply disappear like everyone else had?

The last thing Isaac wanted to do was abandon his father’s final wish... but he didn’t know if he had the strength to continue anymore.

He had already fought for so long, and yet, the end of the road didn’t appear to be any closer.

Forcing himself up from the cold ground, Isaac steadily rose to his feet and patted some snow off his coat before continuing to trudge across the unforgiving terrain, feeling more and more exhausted with every step.

He hadn’t slept ever since Arthur died, and with the amount of people hunting him down in these mountains, Isaac didn’t dare lower his gun for a moment.

Agent Fordham may have been kind enough to let him go, but even then, Isaac knew he was far from safe. He still had Dutch and Micah to worry about, and top of that, there was also the fact that Agent Ross had probably figured out by now that Isaac was still alive.

He was going to have to reach the border as soon as possible, and without any mistakes.

Slowly making his way up a steep hill, Isaac clutched his rifle close to his chest and examined the area ahead of him, keeping an eye out for any possible threats.

There was a small group of shacks sitting atop the hill -- all of which seemed abandoned -- but the young man noticed a fresh trail of footprints leading up to one of them. It looked like someone had passed through here recently, and judging by the dying campfire that was gradually withering away outside, Isaac assumed they were still nearby.

He cocked his firearm, prepared to shoot anything that moved.

Part of Isaac simply wanted to leave the cabins alone and carry on, but with the level of fatigue that was currently overtaking his body, the boy knew he needed to rest lest he collapse somewhere in the wilderness.

Gently pushing the cabin’s door open, Isaac carefully stepped inside and observed his surroundings, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

So far, the only thing to greet the young man was a lifeless room filled with nothing but a dead fireplace, and a collection of cracked windows. There were visible specks of dust floating in the sunbeams that seeped through the glass, and on the wall opposite to him, Isaac spotted another door.

It didn’t seem like anyone was home at the moment, so he continued to settle in.

Just before Isaac could take another step however, a bullet came flying through one of the windows and zipped mere centimeters past his ear, causing him to jump backwards.

He immediately slammed the front door shut and took cover, hiding behind a nearby wall.

Isaac didn’t even have a chance to see his attacker’s face before they attempted to shoot him, but just based on the muffled voice he heard talking to him afterwards, the young man knew exactly who it was.

“Well, would you look at that...” his assailant said from outside. “Here I am searchin’ high and low through these goddamn mountains -- freezin’ my ass off just to find you -- and you show up right on my doorstep. Now ain’t that a surprise?”

Isaac peeked through the window’s dusty glass, keeping an eye on the other man as he approached the cabin.

“Fuck off, Micah.” He replied. “I ain’t doin’ this with you. Not now.”

Micah laughed at that. “Why not? Lost your nerve now that daddy ain’t here to protect you? I thought you was a tough boy.” He glanced around for a bit, shrugging in curiosity. “Speakin’ of which, where is the old man? I figured he’d be wanderin’ around here with you. Hard for me to imagine the two of you splittin’ up. Somethin’ happen to him...?”

Isaac clenched his jaw in anger. “...You know damn well what happened. You caused it. Agent Ross found us ‘cause of you.”

The outlaw sighed melodramatically. “Ah, so them government boys got him in the end. Tragic. Arthur always struck me as the type who woulda fancied himself dyin’ in a more heroic fashion. Like in the fairytales. Guess he weren’t so big and bad, after all.”

Isaac subtly reached for his knife, preparing to attack Micah once he got near the door.

“He was still strong enough to beat you.”

Micah grinned in response. “Hmm, well... I just hope the same can be said for you. You’re a strong kid, Isaac. But you’re in for a rude awakenin’ once Dutch gets here. He won’t let you leave these mountains alive...” The man took out his weapon, preparing to strike. “And neither will I.”

Leaping out from cover, Isaac bolted to the front door and slammed it open right before Micah could barge in, bashing the other man in the face as he tumbled to the ground.

Meanwhile, Isaac took advantage of the opening and yanked his knife out, slicing it downwards as he tried to aim for the man’s throat. Just before he could press the knife into his skin however, Micah reached up and grabbed Isaac’s wrists in resistance, pushing back as the two of them wrestled for power.

“Fiery little shit, ain’t you?” Micah growled through bloodied teeth. “You can fight me all you want, boy... but that won’t bring your daddy back. He’s long gone, I’m afraid...!”

Isaac felt a familiar sense of hatred growing inside him again, motivating him to push down even harder.

“You shut your goddamn mouth, Micah!”

The older man chuckled deviously. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I strike a nerve? Heh. You’s your daddy’s son, alright. All emotion and no brains. It’s no wonder he’s dead now, just like that whore of a mother you had.”

Isaac let out a strained groan, fervently trying to force the blade into Micah’s neck as his arms began to quiver.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a worthless snake, Micah...! And I’m gonna make sure you die like one.”

Micah’s grin grew even wider at that. “Ah, now that’s the Isaac I know. You strut around pretendin’ to be a better man than the rest of us, but really, you’re just another killer deep down, ain’t you, princess? Same as Shay. Well, c’mon then. Show me what you got...!”

Mustering all the strength in his body, Micah easily shoved Isaac’s lean frame off of him and kicked the boy in the gut, causing him to reel back. In the meantime, Micah got up from the ground and took his own hunting knife out, slashing the weapon wildly at Isaac.

“There’s winners, and losers!” He shouted, stepping forward as the boy dodged his attacks. “Nothin’ else besides.”

Ducking under one of Micah’s swings, Isaac barely missed the edge of his blade and prepared to strike him with a counterattack, only to receive a gash to the cheek when the other man followed up with a second slice.

Stumbling backwards, Isaac watched as a few droplets of blood trickled from his face and onto the white snow beneath him, spreading in a manner similar to an ink blot.

He was already feeling worn out from trying to keep up with Micah’s vicious speed, but for the sake of making sure his father wouldn’t die in vain, Isaac refused to give up. 

He brought his attention back to the outlaw, gripping the hilt of his knife even tighter than before.

“You’re wrong about my father. He did die as a hero. He died protectin’ me...” Isaac held the blade in front of him, making sure that Micah wouldn’t come close. “...But you? You’re gonna die as a rat. A traitor. Your corpse’ll become nothin’ but food for the vultures, and ain’t no one gonna give a shit about you.”

Micah smirked at the statement. “Oh, we’re all gonna die someday, cowboy. But at least my pockets will be heavier when that time comes.”

Leaping at each other, the two of them engaged in one last fight to the death as the snow danced wildly around them, coating everything behind a layer of ice. The sun was barely breaking through the clouds now, and as more time went on, Isaac could feel the weather hindering his movements more and more.

His limbs were becoming stiff in the cold, and his skin had nearly gone numb from the freezing wind that chewed through it. 

But despite all the obstacles he faced, Isaac remained adamant in his mission to kill Micah and persisted with the battle, determined to put him in the ground.

Throwing a punch at the older man, Isaac buried his knuckles in Micah’s jaw and stunned him for a moment, allowing him to turn the tide of the fight. He tackled the outlaw to the snow and pinned him down with his own weight, beating the man the same way Arthur once did.

Instead of trying to block Isaac’s attacks however, Micah resorted to a quicker solution and simply jabbed his knife into the boy’s leg, causing him to shout in agony as blood began to seep through his clothes.

Isaac frantically tried to think through the pain, but was swiftly interrupted when Micah hurled him off to the side and climbed on top of him, switching their positions.

He hurriedly yanked the blade out of Isaac’s leg and diverted it to his throat, but was stopped halfway when the boy pushed back in a desperate attempt to keep the knife from reaching his neck.

“You’re pathetic, Morgan...!” Micah snarled. “Sure, you’re real tough when it comes to killin’ fools, but against anyone else, you’re just a scared little boy tryin’ to survive in a man’s world.”

Isaac groaned in effort, grinding his teeth together as he clutched Micah’s wrists with an iron grip.

“You don’t know... the first thing about me...! I don’t wanna be a killer... but for you -- I’ll make an exception...!”

Using every bit of strength that he had left in him, Isaac forcibly pushed Micah further away from him and stretched his arms out, putting some distance between his neck and the blade.

He wanted to make sure he had enough space to roll out from underneath him before making his next move, but with a new wound now throbbing in his leg, Isaac couldn’t deny that he was feeling weaker and weaker by the minute.

Giving Micah another firm shove, the boy finally managed to get him at a reasonable distance and slid free from his grasp, moving out of the way just as the man’s knife impaled the ground.

Isaac scrambled across the snow and reached for his gun, whipping it straight out of the holster as the other man came charging at him.

He only had once chance to kill Micah before he’d be on top of him again, but in spite of the risks, Isaac decided it’d best to rely on his gun rather than his strength. He barely had any energy left in him, after all, and based how much blood he was losing, the boy wasn’t sure if he could keep this up for much longer.

He aimed the barrel directly at Micah’s head, getting ready to shoot the man.

Bang.

A single gunshot thundered throughout the entire region.

Micah’s body came to a halt, and his eyes widened in pure shock.

There was a deathly gap in the fast rhythm of his breath, and within a few moments, the man’s face had been drained of all life. 

What confused Isaac however, was that he had yet to pull the trigger.

Collapsing to the ground, Micah toppled over into the snow and landed on his side, revealing a third person standing behind him.

He remained paralyzed on the ground and simply lay there in bewilderment, glancing upwards at the man who just put a bullet in his back.

“...Dutch...” Micah wheezed, glaring fearfully at him. “You... shot me...”

The other man stepped next to his fallen comrade, solemnly looking down at him as a trail of smoke rose from his revolver.

“...Not soon enough, I’m afraid.”

Watching as Micah drew his final breath, Dutch stood above him in silence and simply towered over the man, finally witnessing the revenge he had thirsted for for so long.

He had known for a while now that there was a traitor within the gang, but he never had his suspicions confirmed until he read Bill’s goodbye letter.

The drunken fool had been kind enough to leave a note before he took off, and Dutch knew that if he wanted to catch Micah by surprise, he’d have to keep the warning a secret.

So, time after time, he pretended to be oblivious to the snake’s deeds and blindly went along with his plans, only to find him wrestling with the son of the very man he wished he had never pushed away to begin with.

It was a step closer to finding his redemption, he thought... and yet, Dutch felt as if he had taken two steps back. 

That was the price of vengeance he supposed. But he no longer cared.

Pushing his thoughts aside for the moment, Dutch suddenly remembered that he still had Isaac to deal with and brought his attention back to the boy, aiming the gun at him.

It looked like Micah had already injured him quite a bit during their fight, but even then, Dutch knew better than to let his guard down.

He carefully approached the young man, making sure to keep him in place.

“...Arthur’s not with you?” He noted. 

Isaac remained seated in the snow, shaking his head.

“...No.” He answered quietly. “He’s... he’s dead.”

Dutch’s expression sank with worry.

“...Dead?” He asked, mortified. “How? What happened?”

The young man slowly rose to his feet, careful not to alert Dutch.

“The Pinkertons cornered us just outside of Lake Isabella. Ross ended up shootin’ him. I...” Isaac’s tone softened with regret, “...I couldn’t save him.”

Dutch steadily lowered his gun in disbelief and gazed aimlessly at the view beyond the horizon, furrowing his brow in anguish.

He couldn’t believe it.

Just when he started to right the wrongs of his past, and regain some of the integrity he passed onto others... the most important person in his life had been taken away.

He treated Arthur like a complete stranger the last time he saw him, and to make matters worse, he never even had the chance to say goodbye.

All Dutch had left of the man was a broken collection of memories, and an abandoned journal that was full of unfinished thoughts.

He brought his gaze back to Isaac, observing the boy’s striking resemblance to his father.

Perhaps... there was more of Arthur in him than Dutch originally thought. Maybe it was time to put his feelings about the young man in the past, and move on with his life.

He had nothing left to fight for, after all. His mission for vengeance was completed the minute Micah’s heart came to a stop, and with Arthur dead... there was no need to worry about confronting the man any longer.

The only thing Dutch could do for his late son now was take care of the one person who still survived him, and help him flourish in a world that was so willing to kill him.

He reached down and retrieved Arthur’s fallen hat from the ground, quietly traipsing over to the boy as he patted some snow off its rim.

“Y’know what, Isaac,” Dutch said with a cough, “...I wish I could’ve realized this sooner, but...” he handed the hat to Isaac, “...you’re the last person I want dead.”

The young man took the hat into his grasp, admittedly at a loss for words.

“I-- thank you, Dutch. I won’t lie. I didn’t expect this from you.”

The older man nodded in agreement. “Neither did I.”

Isaac placed the hat back on his head, suddenly recalling Arthur’s last request.

“Hey,” he said, holding Dutch back for a moment, “before you go... my father wanted me to tell you somethin’ in case I ever saw you again. He said he never hated you, despite everything that happened. And he’s sorry he wasn’t there when you needed him.”

“He... said that?” The man sighed in heartache. “Oh, Arthur...”

Evidently grief-stricken by the message, Dutch turned away from Isaac and bit his bottom lip, attempting to hide the tears that threatened to spill. One of his biggest fears ever since learning of Micah’s betrayal was that he’d never be able to gain Arthur’s forgiveness, and yet... it was clear that he had misjudged the man once again.

Dutch let out a shaky breath, still gazing at the ground.

“Thank you... for lettin’ me know, son. I... I appreciate it.”

Isaac shared Dutch’s mournful mood. “I just wish my father could’ve been here to tell him yourself.”

Dutch nodded at that. “Me too, Isaac. Me too.”

The older man turned around and began making his way off the mountain, eager to put some distance between him and Mount Hagen.

“...I have to go now, son. You’ve... certainly given me much to think about, and I won’t forget it. But I need to handle it on my own.”

The boy stayed back, not wanting to disturb Dutch any further. 

“I understand.”

“Take care of yourself. This world weren’t built for the likes of us, but you still have a chance. As for me... well, my time has passed. And I’m afraid that’s just the way it is.”

Venturing deeper into the cold, barren landscape, Dutch took his leave from the grisly scene and began descending Mount Hagen’s steep terrain, disappearing further and further into the snow.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from the events that transpired here -- what with news of Arthur’s death -- but he knew it was time to move on.

This chapter of madness and insanity had finally been closed now that Micah was gone, and even though Dutch had no certainty of what the future held, he had no intentions of lingering in the past either.

It had caused him enough pain. And now, he was ready to heal.

Trudging down the mountain, Dutch vanished in the distance like a phantom in the wind as the snowstorm began to pick up, completely obscuring his path. He didn’t know where he was going, or where this road would lead him, but he continued with his journey regardless.

Meanwhile, Isaac stayed behind and watched as the other man took his leave, suddenly feeling a strange sense of contentment within him.

He still had a long way to go in terms of recovery, but the boy felt like he was finally ready to accept reality.

Arthur was dead. 

Eliza was dead. 

And there was no way he could bring them back.

The world had taken them prematurely from Isaac’s life... and yet, he was fully aware that it’d be impossible to rectify that.

There wasn’t a single man he could kill, or a god he could pray to that would restore everything he’d lost.

He no longer had anything left to lose... and that was why he could finally start over.

Slipping his gun back into its holster, Isaac took one last glance at Micah’s corpse before removing himself from Mount Hagen’s vicinity, allowing the other man to freeze in the snow.

Even though part of him was disappointed that he didn’t get the chance to kill Micah, the young man couldn’t deny that he was also relieved. He had seen for himself just how much hatred could consume a man, and considering everything that happened these past couple of weeks, Isaac didn’t know if he’d be willing to walk down the path of vengeance again.

It nearly destroyed him, not too long ago. He killed Shay’s entire gang without a single hint of hesitation or a second thought, and at one point, he might’ve even enjoyed it.

But now... Isaac could see that Arthur was right.

As tempting as revenge could be, it wasn’t worth the sacrifice. 

His humanity, his compassion, his care for others -- those were the things that kept him going. And those were the things he wanted to keep alive.

He had spent long enough wandering through this world as a killer, and now, he was ready to embrace forgiveness.

It was a difficult thing to accept, but for the sake of moving on with his life, and carrying out Arthur’s final wish, Isaac knew he had to put down the gun.

It was the only way he could allow himself to recover now, and the only thing that would permit him to seek redemption.

He had finally reached the end of the road, and freedom was waiting for him on the other side.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE WEEK LATER

EVENING

ELIZA’S CABIN

Standing quietly in front of the lifeless house, Isaac found himself overwhelmed by the empty silence as he clutched a bundle of flowers in his grasp, wondering if he even had the strength to see his parents’ graves again.

After he left Mount Hagen, the boy traveled back to Colter against his better judgement and brought Arthur’s body here, burying him alongside Eliza.

It was probably foolish of him to remain in the United States for so long with all the people searching for him, but in spite of the danger, Isaac didn’t have the heart to leave them behind.

They were both gone from this world -- that was true -- but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ensure they had the opportunity to rest in peace.

Giving Aldo a quick pat on the neck, Isaac signaled the horse to stay behind as he approached the abandoned cabin, fiddling with his hands in nervousness.

It had been ages since he last saw this house, and just by gazing at its boarded-up windows, he could already feel an influx of memories flooding his head.

From the days he’d spend playing in the fields with Arthur, to the times he spent listening to Eliza’s singing... there wasn’t a single moment that he couldn’t remember.

Everything about this place screamed nostalgia to him, and part of Isaac wished he could stay forever.

Walking up to Arthur’s and Eliza’s graves, Isaac took a deep breath before kneeling down in front of them, trying to keep his composure.

He had given his father the same kind of cross that stood above his mother, and on the wooden planks read a small passage: 

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”

It probably wasn’t the kind of message Arthur expected to be marked with when he was gone from this world, but Isaac felt it fit the man more than he may have realized. 

He knew his father always saw himself as somebody who only ever did wrong, but in Isaac’s eyes, the man was a hero. He abandoned his past as an outlaw, and sacrificed everything he knew to keep his son safe. His last moments were spent ensuring that Isaac had a chance to survive, and the boy wasn’t about to forget that.

Placing the flowers next to the crosses, Isaac gazed longingly at the names that had been carved into their surface, wishing they could be there with him.

He didn’t know exactly what to say, or if anything needed to be said at all, but simply by looking at their graves, he already felt as if his parents were standing in front of him again.

It was as if their ghosts still remained in this place, and the longer Isaac stared at the cabin standing behind them, the more he felt compelled to say something in return.

“Yeah, I know...” Isaac said affectionately, “I’m still here, Dad. I promise I’ll be on my way to Canada soon, but... I wanted to say goodbye first. I never had the chance to thank you properly for everything you did, and well... I just hope you know that I always cared for you.”

He turned to Eliza’s grave. “And Ma... I’m sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from Shay and his men, and I’m sorry that I became blinded by my hatred for so long. I know neither of you would’ve wanted me to go down that path, and I wish I could’ve realized that sooner.”

He paused for a moment, nodding in reassurance. “But I’ll do my best to be a better man from now on. I’m gonna try to help people instead of hurtin’ them, and I won’t pick up my gun again unless I have to. It’ll feel strange takin’ on such a new life, but... it’s one I’m ready to adapt.”

Isaac stood up from the ground, glancing over his shoulder at Aldo.

“...I’ve gotta go now. You know how persistent them Pinkertons can be, and I think I’ve already spent enough time lingering around here. But I’ll come visit you as much as I can. I promise.”

Walking away from the graves, Isaac slowly returned to his horse as the sun finally began to set beneath the tree line, painting the sky a striking orange color. For as far as the eye could see, nothing but vast meadows stretched out for miles into the distance, and anything that stood on the horizon was blackened into a stark silhouette.

It was like a small paradise out here, Isaac thought. The nature in this area had been left untouched by civilization’s progress, and due to its secluded location, no other souls roamed around here except for his own two parents.

It was the one place Isaac could find peace... and he had to leave it behind for now.

Climbing back onto Aldo’s addle, the young man readied himself for the journey ahead and spared a few moments to take one final look at the cabin, admittedly reluctant to separate himself from it.

It felt nice to be somewhere familiar again, but Isaac knew he couldn’t stay here forever. There was an entirely new life waiting for him beyond the border, and this was his last chance to seize it.

So, with one last goodbye, Isaac bid farewell to the place he once called home and lightly kicked his spurs into Aldo’s sides, urging the horse to begin trotting away from the scene.

He didn’t know when he’d return to the cabin again, but one thing was for sure. He had finally found the closure he needed.

Shay, Arthur, Eliza, Dutch, Micah... they were all ghosts in the wind now. There was nothing left to hold Isaac back from his future, and now, he could focus on becoming a new man.

It was the reward he received for having fought for so long. The one thing that everyone else in his life constantly died for.

The only treasure that no amount of money could buy.

Redemption.

~~~~~~~~~~

FOUR YEARS LATER

1911

SOMEWHERE IN NEW AUSTIN

Hopping off his mount, John Marston approached the makeshift clinic standing in front of him as he carefully searched the area, admittedly skeptical of how much information he would receive from this visit.

According to the locals, there was a rather eccentric doctor who had been seen traveling around these parts... but he wasn’t anything like the ones that worked in the hospitals.

For starters, he was an outlaw. He hadn’t committed any crimes in recent years except for evading the Pinkertons’ grasp, but the idea of a criminal doctor was still strange to John. And on top of that, the man apparently had some crucial information regarding the locations of Bill Williamson and Dutch van der Linde.

He didn’t know why the hell Dutch or Bill would’ve been in contact with a man such as this one, but John supposed he was about to find out.

Making his way up the clinic’s wooden stairs, John opened the front door and prepared to let himself in, only to be interrupted when he found the barrel of a shotgun staring back at him.

He couldn’t quite see the face of the person holding it just yet due to the darkness inside, but John assumed it was the doctor he had heard so much about.

He raised his hands in the air, backing away slowly.

“Whoa, now...” Marston said, attempting to defuse the situation, “easy, mister. I mean you no harm.”

The doctor chuckled at that. “Them’s some funny words comin’ from a man with as many guns as you. You think I haven’t heard that one before? Who are you? You with the law?”

John hesitated to answer. “Well, I am workin’ with the government, but I ain’t here to take nobody in. I’m just here to see a doctor. I assume that’s you?”

The other man didn’t trust him just yet. “Depends on what you need. You sick? Dying? Both?”

Marston shook his head. “No, nothin’ like that. I’m just lookin’ for information. I need to find two outlaws named Bill Williamson and Dutch van der Linde, and I’ve been told that you’re the person to talk to.”

The doctor fell silent at that, clearly surprised to hear those names again.

“...Why d’you wanna find them?”

John sighed in discontent. The truth was, he didn’t want to find them. Not after all the conflict that ensued between them. But he had no choice.

“I have to.” He settled with. “For the sake of my family. For my wife, and son. Their safety depends on it.”

The doctor didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but figured it was best not to ask too many questions. This man was linked to the government, after all, and the last thing he needed was for them to come sniffing around his clinic.

“...I see. Well, in that case...”

Putting the shotgun away, the doctor finally opened the door and stepped out from the clinic’s shadows, revealing his full identity.

He was much younger than John expected, and had a striking resemblance to someone he once knew. His hair was short and blonde, his eyes were a mixture of blue and green, and a short beard outlined the edge of his jaw. 

As for his clothes, he didn’t seem to share the same fashion sense that others in the medical field had. He wore a black Rambler Jacket paired with a rather nice set of trousers, and adorned a bronze-colored vest along with a simple puff tie to top it off. The soles of his boots were worn and covered in dirt, and on his waist rested a charcoal gun belt.

But what really caught Marston’s attention... was the unmistakable hat that sat atop the doctor’s head. It seemed to be made out of leather, and had a familiar string of rope wrapped around its crown.

It appeared to be identical to the one Arthur once wore, and just based on how similar the doctor’s features looked to the man, John suddenly found himself wondering who on earth he had just run into.

The young man rested the shotgun on his shoulder, formally introducing himself.

“I’m Doctor Morgan. How can I help?”


End file.
